Dodging Bullets
by Max Alleyne
Summary: Dean and Sam run into someone that Dean never thought he'd see again, especially since the last time he saw her, they were both in Hell. Dean/OC
1. Introductions

**Author's Note: **So, this is my first foray into Supernatural fanfiction, so any constructive criticism is totally welcome. I'm a little nervous about this story. I'm going to tell you right now, it's a Dean/OC paring, though I don't plan to have it be one of those where each brother has his girl and it's one big, happy cross-country demon-hunting roadtrip complete with Winchester babies. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please review, let me know what you think!

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They had set themselves up strategically in the bar: Dean was at the pool table—which not only allowed him to see almost the entire bar, but also to make money at the same time—and Sam was sitting at the bar, keeping an eye on the back entrance. They knew what they were looking for: that one person who was just a little bit too smooth, who really sold what they were saying. They would be sitting in the corner, which was oh-so-conveniently shrouded in shadow, with that person who was too far gone, who had had one too many drinks. There were too many bodies in too little space for Sam to smell the demon, and too many shadow-shrouded faces.

"Anything yet?" Dean asked Sam as he crossed by him, pool stick in hand.

"Not yet. Too damn many people," he answered under his breath.

"My money is on that corner booth over there. Shadowy, and she looks like she's about to crawl across the table and into his lap."

"You can't even see her face," Sam muttered. "She might be chewing him out, for all you know."

Dean grinned a knowing, wicked grin that didn't quite reach all the way to his eyes. Sam could see past the grin, the devil-may-care attitude. Dean was tired of hunting, tired of the struggle—as was Sam. They both knew it, but wouldn't allow themselves to voice those thoughts—not anymore, when this was so important. Giving up wasn't an option. So instead, they did their best to soldier on, pretending that everything was going to be alright.

"Oh, trust me, Sammy. If she's chewing anything it's—"

"Okay, thank you for that lovely image."

"You know, why is it that all the good-looking women are dangerous?" Dean wondered aloud. Sam couldn't suppress a small smile, despite his grim mood.

"Occupational hazard, I guess. I'll just take my nose over there and have a sniff around," Sam answered, setting down his drink and rising from his chair. Dean watched as his brother made his way over to the booth—conveniently positioned beside the bathroom—staggering all the way. Any unsuspecting person—or even a suspecting one—would think that he was a drunken patron. After all, he had been sitting at the bar for the past three and a half hours. Sam stumbled next to the booth, catching himself on the table.

The smell of the demon—burnt and faintly surfuric—brought on a rollercoaster of feelings for Sam. He and Dean had worked so hard to kick his habit, his dependency on that vile stuff, and somehow, sometimes he still yearned for it. He turned towards the young woman to offer an apology, only to find that the smell was fainter. She wasn't the demon.

"'Scuse me," he said, looking towards the man. The smell was stronger, and he quickly pulled himself off the table and into the bathroom. He tried to pull himself together, to push the yearning away. After several deep breaths and some cold water to the face, he emerged and staggered back to the bar, where Dean stood waiting, pool stick in hand. He was just finishing up a game, and his opponent did not seem happy about the money he was about to lose.

"It's the man," Sam whispered. Dean arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Well, that means that we've got to find some way to get her the hell out of there before she makes a deal," Dean said, his voice determined. Immediately, he began looking around for some way to clear out the bar, because a crowd of people wasn't exactly ideal hunting conditions. Especially when their primary weapon was a sawed-off shotgun. "We've got to clear this place out."

"Fire alarm?" Dean shook his head. The building was so run down it probably didn't even have a fire alarm. Any fire marshal that set foot inside the building would have a heart attack on sight. A bar fight wouldn't work, because it would just draw attention do them and get them thrown out. No, they needed something that was going to get the attention of the entire bar. Dean's gaze fell on the bottles of liquor behind the bar, all sitting neatly on their shelves. He and Sam eyed each other, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

"I don't suppose we could just ask nicely?" Sam muttered bitterly under his breath. He missed the old days when he wasn't worrying about being the antichrist, when all they had to worry about was getting killed. Now, with each passing day, death came to be a more prominent part of their lives, and the chances of surviving with souls intact seemed to get smaller and smaller. But this demon was their chance to make their odds a little better, so they would have to do whatever it took.

"Yeah, that'd go over real well. Excuse me, if all demons could please form a single-file line at the door…You ready?" Sam nodded with a sigh. Dean's face was grim, but part of him was hoping for a good fight, for the burst of adrenaline that could temporarily push everything away—the chaos, the demons, the angels, destiny (whatever that meant). Any minute he wasn't thinking about how desperate he was would be a minute of relief.

Dean quickly knocked the last ball into the correct pocket and stood to face his opponent, a burly, bearded man who looked like he'd drunk a gallon of sour milk. Dean grinned and collected his money, taking special care to count it obnoxiously loud. When he finished he looked over at the man and called, "Hey man, good game. You up for another?" He watched the man stiffed as his mocking tone registered.

With a loud cry, the man ran at Dean, who easily sidestepped him and gave him the tiniest push—right over the bar and into the shelves of liquor. Several bottles shattered and patrons turned to face them—slightly alarmed, but not ready to leave just yet. They were ready to leave, though, when the man stood behind the bar and began hurling bottles across the room. Puddles of alcohol formed on the floor and the bar. Sam quickly ducked and stepped towards his brother, "accidentally" dropping a lit match to the floor.

The alcohol went up in flames, and screams filled the air. Drunken patrons pushed and pulled at each other as they desperately tried to get to an exit. Sam beat them out the door, running around back. Dean tucked himself away in a niche, waiting for the right moment. The young woman and the demon calmly stood—something odd amidst the stampede of people—and began looking for an exit, in no apparent hurry. They found the back exit and began moving towards it. Dean followed, unnoticed in the crowd.

The minute they stepped out the back door, the demon froze. He stared in disbelief at the symbol Sam had drawn in chalk on the dirt, trapping him inside. Unfortunately, the young woman was inside as well. In the blink of an eye, the demon had his arm around her, pulling her against him, a knife to her throat. The brothers froze.

"Let me out, or her blood is on your hands," the demon spat, his eyes glowing red. The two brothers exchanged a look, neither particularly inclined to put their guns or holy water down. The demon pressed the knife closer to the woman's throat. She clenched her jaw, trying not to scream. Her hands grabbed uselessly at the demon, at her clothes, at anything, trying to find some way out.

"You let her go, or you're going back to Hell," Dean said, his voice hard.

"I don't think so. You can't perform an exorcism with her in here with me, so I think I'll just hold on to her," he replied smugly.

"I don't think so, you son of a bitch." Before anyone realized what was happening, the woman was pouring water onto the demon, steam rising from his wounds. In shock and pain, he let her go and she stepped out of the circle, leaving the demon trapped alone inside. Sam and Dean looked at each other, stunned for a moment at what they were seeing. Before anyone had made a move to stop her, she pulled knife out of her bag. Dean recognized the symbols on the blade—the same symbols that had been on the blade that could kill anything. Just as she was preparing to throw the knife, Dean grabbed her arm.

"No! You can't we need him!"

"You need him _alive_?" she asked, sounding completely shocked.

"Yes!" Dean said, stepping between her and the demon. This was not exactly a position he had ever thought he would find himself in. Ever.

"Really?" She was clearly frustrated, her hands on her hips. Dean nodded.

"Well, too bad. I need him dead," she snapped, throwing a punch at Dean. It connected with his chin, sending him to the ground. Dirt flew everywhere, breaking the circle. The woman tried to throw her knife, but Sam grabbed her arms and was restraining her. Before Dean could grab the demon, he was gone. With a shriek of frustration, the young woman pulled away from Sam and immediately began swearing profusely at them.

"You son of a bitch!" she yelled, pointing her finger a Dean. "You let him get away!"

"I let him get away? If you hadn't punched me—"

"If you had moved, I wouldn't have had to punch you so damn hard, Dean Winchester."

He froze upon hearing his name, and stared at the person who had spoken it. She was tiny—maybe five and half feet tall, in three and a half inch heels—but that didn't seem to have any effect whatsoever on her presence. She had red hair—it shone bright copper in the firelight—that framed an odd face. Her nose wasn't perfect, though it probably had been at one point. There was a tiny scar across the bridge, probably acquired when she'd broken her nose. Her eyes were green, bright with temper right now, staring at him from beneath strong brows. Her mouth was twisted into a bitter smile.

After several moments—long moments—Dean took a step back, and for the first time in a long time, he dropped his weapon in shock. Sam watched as the blood ran from his brother's face; his hands began shaking as he found himself at a complete loss for words. The woman just stood there, the same bitter smile on her face.

"It's been a while, yeah?" she finally said. "I didn't think you'd recognize me without all the blood. But it's okay. If I hadn't been looking for you, I probably wouldn't have recognized you either. I guess the rack will do that to your perception."

Sam looked in shock at his brother, then back at the woman. "The rack?"

"You know, the medieval torture device? Causes the joints to separate—among other things. I don't recommend it. Extremely uncomfortable," she quipped, grinning harshly at Sam. Dean continued to stare at her, not sure of what he was seeing. When he finally spoke, his voice was oddly hoarse.

"What's your name?" he whispered. Her expression softened.

"Lena. Lena Colt," she answered, taking a step closer. He took one back. Sam stood silently, trying to process the scene before him. Several moments later, her words finally registered.

"Colt? As in—"

"The gunsmith? Yes. I would be one of those Colts."

Dean visibly cringed at her words. Finally, he spoke again. "H-how is that possible?"

"The climb out of Hell? I'm surprised you're asking, Dean. I mean, after all, you managed it."


	2. Long Night

**Author's Note: **A huge thank you to those who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. The support is greatly appreciated. Anyway, here is another chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and please review. =)

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"That's not possible. You couldn't have climbed out of hell. I tried. There's no way," Dean finally managed after a few moments. "How?"

"How I got out doesn't matter—"

"Of course it matters. Think of how many innocent souls we could save if we knew how you did it," Sam said, eyeing his brother. If only he had known a way to get Dean out of Hell sooner. If he could have spared his brother that pain…

"It wouldn't help them," she said quietly, trying and failing to keep her voice from trembling. Dean could hear the weakness in her voice, but found no trace of it in her expression. Instead, he saw the determined set of her jaw, and the closed expression on her face. They might as well be talking to a brick wall; she wasn't going to tell them anything else about her escape from Hell, and he knew it. "Now, I need to kill that demon—"

"Really? You looked pretty cozy with it," Sam answered, splashing holy water on her. Lena blinked as the water hit her face and slid down her cheeks, leaving her wet but otherwise unharmed. She stared at him, exasperated. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a silver knife and scraped it across the back of her hand. Again, nothing happened, aside from the blood trickling down the back of her hand. Finally, she raised her arms over her head and stood still.

"Go ahead. Holy water, exorcism, salt…I already stepped outside your little demon trap. You can waste your time doing them over, or you can believe me when I say that I'm human," she said shortly. Dean stared at her.

"Let's go, Sam," he said quietly.

"What?"

"There's no sense in staying here. She's not going to tell us anything else." As he spoke, he stared at her, not sure if he wanted her to leave or if he wanted her to tell him more. She stared back at him, that same stubborn, closed expression on her face. She was toying with a talisman that hung around her neck. Dean recognized it immediately: it was the same one he had that was meant to guard against demonic possession. His brow furrowed in thought as he tried to think his way through the complicated situation in front of him. She somehow managed to escape from Hell, but was cozy with a demon. Then she wore a talisman to protect herself from possession. There were too many pieces that didn't seem to fit together.

They turned and started to head back to the Impala, sawed-off shotguns thrown over their shoulders, wondering about the next cheap motel they were going to be staying in. Behind them, Lena sighed and started to follow, only after she tucked her silver dagger into her boot. There were now only two cars parked in the parking lot—the Impala, and Lena's black SUV. Her SUV looked like it had been through more than the Impala—there were dents and scratches in the sides, nicks in the paint job. Just as they were about to drive off, she sat on the hood of the car.

"Look, we both need to find the same demon. You need information, and I need it dead—"

"You can't kill demons. You exorcize them and send them back to Hell," Sam said loudly, eyeing Dean.

"Don't play dumb with me, Sam. You've got the knife that can kill almost anything, and the Colt is around here somewhere. I'm not an idiot—"

"How do you know this?" Dean asked, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. Too late for that, though. Just seeing her there was enough to shock anyone that knew where she'd been. She was the only other person who had been to Hell and come back, aside from him, and he wanted to know how she had done it. He wanted to know—in case he, or someone he loved, needed to climb out of the pit again.

"You're Sam and Dean Winchester. You're legendary. I don't know if you know that, but it's true. People—and non-people—talk. Hunters, demons, any type of supernatural force, they all know about you. It's not hard to find these things out."

"Most people think that Colt is a legend. How do you—" Sam started.

"I am a Colt. I know my own family legend," she answered with a grin that didn't quite reach all the way to her eyes. "Like I was saying, you need the demon for information, and I need it dead. And we both need it pretty quickly. We can help each other. We catch the demon, you get your information, and we kill it. Everyone wins."

Sam looked to Dean, not sure what his brother would want to do. On one level, Lena was right. They could help each other, and three hunters was better than two. But the way that Dean was acting around her—and who could blame him—wasn't like anything that Sam had seen before. Seeing her had shocked Dean so much he dropped his weapon. That hadn't happened in years, and the last thing they needed was her throwing off their game.

Dean looked at his brother, remembering everything that had been said about the role they were going to play in the apocalypse. Sam was supposed to be Lucifer's vessel, and it was supposed to happen in the next few months, in Detroit. They needed this information. He had to stop it from happening. If that meant working with Lena, then so be it. He would just have to learn to ignore the near overwhelming feeling of guilt he got every time he looked at her.

He wondered how she could stand it. How could she look at him and talk to him like they were normal people? Like they hadn't been through hell together—literally. How could she ignore everything that he had…But he couldn't think about that right now. Her feelings had to come last. He had to save Sam, which meant saving the world and ignoring anything that stood in the way.

"Yeah, alright. Let's get the hell out of here before the cops show up," Dean said, slamming the car door shut. Sam nodded and followed suit. Without having to be told, Lena climbed into her car and waited for them to get moving, ready to follow them to where ever it was that they had decided to stay. After a forty-five minute ride, they pulled into the parking lot of a run-down hotel—creatively named Hotel California. By the time they pulled the right credit card and identification, Lena was already standing at the front desk, trying to get a room.

"Do you have any room preferences? Smoking or non-smoking, balcony…?" the clerk asked. Just thinking of the rickety, rotten-looking balconies was enough to send a chill down Lena's spine.

"I'd like the room with the biggest bathtub, please," she answered quietly. The clerk smiled brightly and nodded.

"Our honeymoon suite has a garden tub," she said. "Is that alri—"

"That's fine," Lena responded as she handed over her credit card. Naturally, it didn't say Lena Colt, but rather Lana Wesson. As she was tucking the card back into her wallet, Dean caught the name and grinned the tiniest bit.

"Here you are, Ms. Wesson. Enjoy your stay," the clerk said, handing over the key to room 432. Lena smiled, picked up her duffel and headed up to her room, wondering how close the Winchester boys were going to want to stay. They would want her fairly close—on the same floor—but not far enough away to keep her at arm's length from what they were doing. Of course, she already knew what they were looking for, but if they needed to believe in secrecy, she could give them that.

As soon as she set foot in the room, she threw the duffel on the floor and pulled out all the supplies she would need to demon-proof the room. Salt went across every doorway, on every window sill; she even took the air vent covers off and salted them, too. Devil's traps went in front of each entrance, just in case. She immediately filled the sink with water and blessed it, as well as the toilet bowl. Herbs to guard against hell hounds went over every door and window. She stripped the sheets and comforter from the bed and piled them into the bathtub. She was taking no chances.

Only after this did she stop and realize that her hands were shaking, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn't want to feel this way—or to feel anything at all, really—but she couldn't help it. Try as she might, she couldn't keep every single emotion pushed away in the back of her mind. She leaned against the door and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. When it didn't work, she pulled her flask from her coat pocket and took a long swig.

"Dean, you want to tell me how you seem to know her?" Sam was asking.

"Not really," Dean answered shortly.

"Dean, look…you two are the only two people that have managed to escape from Hell. You were pulled out by an angel…how the hell did she do it?"

"I don't know, and sure as hell wish I did. But just because we're working with her, doesn't mean that we're trusting her. We're going to use her."

"Well, yeah, but things are a little more complicated now, considering that it knows she wants to kill it now. How are we going to use her—"

"She'll just have to convince him that she was pretending in order to save her own ass. I'm betting that won't be too hard for her, considering how desperate she was back at the bar," Dean said.

Lena sighed, knowing that she didn't have enough time to enact their plan. Demons had a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later—which really wasn't a terrible policy to have, but it sucked when directed at you. She listened as the brother's footsteps faded away down the hall. Unable to resist the urge, she took another swig of bourbon from her flask. It was going to be a long night.

In their room, Dean and Sam unpacked their stuff and laid it out. "Do you think she heard?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure of it. We were right outside her door. We would have heard if we were in her situation."

There was a long silent moment as Sam watched his brother leaf through the copy of the Bible in the bedside table drawer, contemplating whether or not to ask the question that was gnawing away at him. The last thing he wanted to do was upset his brother further, but he needed to know about their history. Finally, Dean took mercy on him and spoke.

"I saw her in Hell," he said quietly. "She was already there when I got there, and she was still there when I was pulled out."

Sam was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant for her, and for them. "So, she…how could she possibly survive with her humanity in tact if she was there for that long?"

"Dad managed."

"Yeah, well, most people aren't Dad."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Well, tomorrow I'll go have a little chat with her about…our partnership. She and I can go over the details then."

"Dean, if you want me to do it, I can—"

"No, I've got it. I have a feeling that she'll talk to me."

Sam nodded tiredly and held his face in his hands. It had been a long, emotional day. There was too much to worry about without adding Lena to the mix, and yet, they had done it anyway. He didn't even know how he was still awake, much less his brother. He imagined the emotions running through his brother's mind and was nearly overwhelmed by them.

He was pulled from his reverie when Dean snapped the Bible shut and climbed into bed. "Get some rest, Sammy. We're going to need it."


	3. Angel of Mercy

**Author's Note: **So, thank you so much for the feedback. Here is another chapter, and I'm a little nervous about it, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thanks, y'all! =)

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When Dean woke, the clock read 3 o'clock PM. Sam was still asleep—sprawled out on the bed with his arms spread wide. Sam looked so young in his sleep—young and innocent—and he wished that Sam could still have that innocence in the waking world. Dean wished that he didn't have to worry about his brother's future—or his own. He wished that the image of Lucifer wearing his brother's skin wasn't emblazoned in his mind.

But the image that had haunted his dreams had been the image of _her. _He remember the way that she had cried silently, her tears making trails through the dried blood on her face. He remembered her eyes—so sharp with intelligence and understanding. Her hoarse voice…it haunted him. But at least it was only him. At least Sam didn't know.

As quietly as he could, he climbed out of bed and got dressed, trying his damndest not to wake his brother. This meant that, naturally, that the minute he stepped into the bathroom and pulled the door shut with a _click_, Sam awoke. So much for that plan.

Dean splashed water on his face, trying to push the last remnants of his dreams from his mind. It didn't work, but it had been worth a try. Nothing could be worse than the dreams. It was like his first few months back—guilt-ridden and nightmare plagued. He had thought that he was the exception, that he would never see anyone else—apparently, he was wrong.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Sam was dressed and waiting on the bed, a plastic bag in his hand. He sat on the bed, staring accusingly at his brother.

"Breakfast?" Dean asked, trying to divert the question that he knew was coming. Sam sighed in frustration and nodded, giving his brother the out that he wanted. There was no point in pushing anyway. Dean would talk when he was ready.

"There's a diner next door," Sam said, handing Dean a to-go box. Dean opened the box and found it filled with bacon and pancakes. On the side, there was a small slice of pie. Dean grinned. "I grabbed some for Lena, but she didn't answer the door."

"She didn't answer the door?" Dean asked, already worried. He grabbed his sawed-off out of the duffel bag on the floor and stuffed it into his jacket. He also grabbed his pistol and tucked it into the waistband of his pants, preparing to storm Lena's room. Sam followed suit and they pushed the door open.

As they stepped into the hallway, they were nearly run over by a room-service cart. The serviceman stopped in front of Lena's room and knocked. She didn't answer, but instead waited until the man had placed the tray on the floor and left before opening the door to retrieve it.

"That was weird," Sam commented as they stepped back into their room. "But she looked alright to me. Why wouldn't she leave the room?"

"I don't know. But we'll find out. I'll go pay her a visit after breakfast," Dean answered, sitting down and digging into his pie.

"You're not going by yourself. She could be dangerous. She proved last night that she's dangerous. Last night she was buddying up with a demon—"

"I can handle it…And I seem to recall you cozying up to a certain—"

"And we see how that turned out!" Sam said forcefully. "She might be dangerous, and we can't take a risk like that—"

"I said I can handle it, Sam."

"Why don't you want me near her? Why is this such a big deal?"

Dean was silent for a long time, studying his hands, the bedspread, the table—anything to keep from looking at his brother. He didn't want to tell him. Sam knew what he had done during his time in Hell, but it was all abstract—there was no face to connect with his cruelty. He didn't want it to be any more real for Sam than it already was. Sam was still his baby brother, and he was still going to protect him the best he could.

"Dean, she is the only other person who has gone to Hell and come back. She's someone you can relate to—"

"No, Sam. I can't," he said quietly, his tone bitter and full of self-hatred.

When it dawned on him, Sam stared at his brother in horror. "She was one of the souls you…" Dean nodded, not able to force himself to speak. Again, he stared at the room, desperate not to see the horror on his brother's face. "God…so every time you look at her…I'm so sorry—"

"You're sorry? For me?" Dean exploded. "Sam, I tortured her repeatedly. Day after day, I found new and interesting ways to tear her apart. The first day I met her, I cracked open her rib cage and made her suffer for hours like that. Don't _pity _me." Sam hadn't thought it was possible for his brother's voice to be any filled with self-loathing, but it was. Still, Sam couldn't keep his heart from aching for his brother. Dean had more than he should have had to handle. Sam knew that his brother was constantly thinking about ways to save him, the fate of the world—he didn't need this, too.

"Dean, let me go talk to her—"

"No. Like you said, she could be dangerous. Just because we're working with her doesn't mean that we can trust her. I'm not letting you go in there with her—"

"So it's okay for you to risk your life, but not for me to risk mine?"

"Yes. Because the angels will bring me back. They won't do the same for you. The only one that would bring you back is the one that we have to keep you away from," Dean said, staring at his brother, as if willing him to understand.

Sam studied his hands, knowing that his brother was right. But it didn't stop him from wishing that he could do something to lessen his brother's burden. He was part of the reason for their trouble—though Dean blamed himself for that one, too. He wished there was _something _he could do other than sit still and hold out on Lucifer.

"Alright, we do this your way. Tell me what to do—Never mind. I'll go do some research. See if I can find our demon."

Dean nodded and double-checked his weapons. Sawed-off was tucked into his jacket, pistol in the waistband of his pants. Just for good measure he grabbed his flask of holy water and a container of salt. Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Going off to battle?" Sam commented snarkily. Dean shrugged and was gone, out the door and down the hall. He pounded on the door, but didn't hear any stirring inside. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, making him itch to take action. He checked himself and pounded on the door again.

"What can I do for you?" she asked when she finally opened the door, if it could even really be called opening the door. She cracked it, just wide enough to see him.

"I want answered," he said plainly.

"And I'm guessing this isn't a conversation that you want to have in the hallway."

"No, not so much."

She opened the door wider to allow him inside, but he froze for a moment, caught off guard by her attire—or lack thereof. She had a sheet wrapped around her body, making her look more tiny and fragile than she usually did. Her tiny feet were poking out of the puddle of sheet, making her look oddly vulnerable.

When he finally realized that he was still standing in the hallway, he stepped over the multiple lines of salt and black powder that lined the doorway and into the room. As she walked away, he could see her bare back. The muscles were strong and sleek—everything that he would have expected in a hunter. There were a few scars peeking out the top of the sheet—scars that he was pretty damn sure wrapped all the way around her body.

"Is it urgent, or can I get dressed?" she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Um, uh…What?" He shook his head, trying to stop himself from thinking about what the rest of her looked like. Did she have other scars? She was a hunter, of course she did. Were there any interesting ones? They were all interesting. Were any of them his doing?

He tried to push away the strange mix of horniness and guilt that was plaguing his mind. He needed clarity. He needed to be able to push, to do anything to learn what he needed to know, and he couldn't do that when he was wondering what she looked like naked. Of it he was wondering how he had marked her.

"Do we have to have this conversation right this minute, or can I actually put some clothes on?" she said again.

"Get dressed."

She pulled clothes from her duffel and headed into the bathroom. The minute the door closed behind her, Dean was searching her bag. He found everything that was normal for a hunter—shot gun with salt rounds, pistols, stakes, a journal full of information on the creatures she had fought. Around the room he saw the salt, the herbs, the black powder. The only thing he couldn't find were her clothes.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked, leaning in the bathroom doorway.

"Hardly. So, last night you looked pretty cozy with that demon. Did you know he was a demon?" Dean asked, cutting to the chase.

"Yeah, I did."

"And you were doing what, exactly?"

"I was _trying _to kill it, but you two saw that I didn't," she snapped, irritated. "I know that subtlety has never been your forte. But the point is to lure the demon out of a public place so that I can kill it in the privacy of my own room. But now, you need information on why Sam is going to let Lucifer wear his skin, so I can't kill the demon because you want to ask him some questions."

Dean froze in shock. How could she know all this? How is that possible?

"How could you possibly—"

"Know that? I got out of Hell. I'm a hunter. People talk," she said, clearly trying not to have to answer the question.

"Well, you're going to tell me how you know what you know. Right now. And then you're going to answer my questions," Dean told her as he pushed her against the wall. He was done playing. He was done being jerked around by any and every force of good or evil in the world. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them from her. "Now, how did you get out?"

She was silent for a long time, staring at him with wide eyes. It was obvious that she was trying to keep the terror from overwhelming her, but she couldn't. Memories were flooding back to her, the memories that she had tried to keep at bay night after night. Dean's face over her, pain blossoming throughout her body…

"I-I-I made a deal," she choked out through her fear.

"What kind of deal?" he asked, his voice hard.

"There are some things that demons can't do, places they can't go…that sort of thing. Most of the time, demons have to be summoned to come here. I was going to serve as their human errand girl in exchange for a normal lifespan here, and when I die, it's back to Hell for me," she explained.

"So, you admit that you made a deal with a demon?"

"Not all of us have friends in high places, Dean, and it couldn't hurt me. Once you're in hell, it's for an eternity, as in the rest of for-fucking-ever. It's not like things could get any worse. It was a few more years that I wasn't going to be torn apart every day," she gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hated herself for showing that weakness, but she couldn't stop it. The memories flashing through her mind like a looping video—each more vivid and creatively painful than the last. "The plan was to get out, and then kill the demon that held my contract. But now, you've gone and screwed me over. The demon knows I want him dead, and at some point, the hell hounds are going to catch up with me. So, if you don't mind, it would be really great if we could find him, please."

"A demon made that deal? How did you even get to Hell in the first place—"

"Ask Cass. I'm sure he can tell you the whole damn story. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date," she said, sauntering towards the bathroom.

"A date?" He didn't even bother to ask how she knew about Cass. The minute he got back to the room, he would find out from the angel man himself.

"Yeah, with my good friend Jack Daniels. Now get the hell out," she said, slamming the bathroom door. Dean sighed, guilt washing over him. Clearly, she was damaged as fuck, and he had preyed on her fear. But it was for Sam, and the world. He didn't have all the answers yet, but he was closer. But just to assuage his conscience…

"Lena," he called, knocking softly on the bathroom door. She opened it just wide enough for him to see inside. The bathtub was filled with sheets and blankets; she'd been sleeping in the bathtub. He understood, he felt for her—and it was obvious on his face.

"Sometimes, I still feel the fire—"

"After you wake up. I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I mean, if I'd been given your offer, I would have taken it, too. And even when you were cracking me open…even when you were at your most vicious, it was more merciful than Alistair ever was. I can't hate you for doing what I would have done. When I was there…for those ten years, you were an angel of mercy."


	4. History Lesson

Dean was on his cell phone the minute he closed the bathroom door on Lena. Cass answered on the first ring, but Dean didn't even give him a chance to greet him before he began speaking. "Scottish Inn. Bluefield, West Virginia. Room 428." Just as he hadn't given him a chance to greet him, Dean didn't give him a chance to respond, either. Instead, he hung up and made his way back to the room he shared with Sam. Cass was waiting on the edge of the bed when Dean opened the door.

"Did you find out anything—" Sam started. Dean stepped right past him and spoke to Cass instead.

"Lena Colt. I want to know everything that you know about her," he demanded tersely. He didn't bother to sit down. Instead, he stood towering over Cass, his arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed "I mean business." When Cass didn't answer immediately, Dean stepped closer—almost threateningly. "She said you would know her. What do you know?"

Cass sighed, one of the vaguely human gestures that had become more common since he had started spending more time with the Winchesters. If Dean didn't know any better, he would have thought that Cass looked weary of telling him the story.

"Lena Colt is a descendant of the Samuel Colt that made the pistol, though Colt is not her birth name. Her mother was a Colt—"

"I don't care about how she got the name, Cass. Tell me about _her._"

"Lena Colt was born to Richard and Catherine Schultz on September 21st, 1984. She had one brother, James, that was five years older. Both of her parents had been raised as hunters, though Catherine grew tired of it. When Richard was twenty-five—five years before his son was born—he was told by a psychic that one of his children would be the beginning of a hunting dynasty. So, when his son was born, he wanted to raise him as a hunter. Catherine didn't want to, but she gave in to her husband. When Lena was born, Catherine was more insistent that she be raised like a normal child—"

"That went well," Dean commented snidely.

"—so she was. They kept James's lessons a secret from her for as long as they could. When she was five, she found her brother carving stakes and wanted to help. Then, when she found his bloody clothes, she wanted to know how her brother had gotten hurt. They told her that he fell at school, but she was a smart child. She followed her brother one day and saw what he did. After that, she started training with him. Everything that James did, Lena could do better. She had a natural aptitude for it."

"Bet her brother wasn't too happy about that," Sam said. Cass nodded.

"The two siblings grew emotionally distant as they grew older. James got jealous and quit hunting. He began to gamble and got into trouble with a demon. It was going to take his soul to settle the debt, but he gave them his sister instead."

"How is that possible? A demon can't take a person's soul without their consent. You can't make a deal for someone else's soul. How did he do it?" Sam asked. Dean still stood, though the hardened expression on his face was softening. He could tell already where this was going. He didn't know the specifics, of course, but he had an idea.

"He had the demon draw up a contract on paper. He got her to sign it, and the deal was made. Ten years later, the hell hounds came and took her soul," Cass finished.

"She's not…she can't be any older than Sam," Dean whispered, thinking about the math. "That would make her…"

"She was sixteen."

"Sixteen? Jesus," Sam said, in complete disbelief that someone could do something like that to their own sibling. His own brother had given his life—his soul—for him. He had no idea what it was like to have a brother that would sentence him to an eternity in Hell. It's amazing that she had come out as…alright as she was." So you're telling me that her brother _tricked_ her into selling her soul when she was still a _kid_?"

"We weren't kids at sixteen," Dean remarked.

"Yeah, but still…she probably signed that contract just because he told her to. I mean, he was still her brother. She probably never saw it coming."

"When the hell hounds came for her, she was not expecting it and could not fight back," Cass told them. Dean could feel the blood rushing from his face and his knees threatening to buckle. Not only had he tortured her in Hell, but he had tortured an innocent woman. He could imagine the shock and confusion when she found that she had hell hounds on her tail. He knew the pain of being torn at by their claws and teeth. The idea of it all almost made him sick.

"So she was an innocent…she didn't do anything to deserve what I—what happened to her…she didn't do a damn thing," he whispered. His hands were shaking and he couldn't stop it, so he jammed them deep into his pockets. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor, trying not to look at anyone else in the room. Looking at Sam would be the worst; to see the horror on his brother's face would only make it that much worse. "I tortured an innocent woman. H-how can I be a righteous man when I tortured an _innocent _woman?"

"Dean, you didn't know," Sam said, squeezing his brother's shoulder comfortingly. Dean shrugged him off, unable to stand the touch of another human being. Comfort? He didn't deserve comfort. He hadn't comforted Lena or any of those other souls he had put on the rack. And just now…he had intimidated the hell out of Lena, and she had taken it. God only knows how she was dealing with it. She was probably half way through with that bottle of Jack Daniels. Hell, if he didn't think he scared the hell out of her, he'd offer to buy her next bottle…and help her drink it.

With a deep breath, Dean pulled himself off the edge of the bed and made his way to the sink, splashing water on his face to clear his head. He had to push the guilt away. Lena had to be used to find the demon who could tell them about Lucifer. She had to be used to save Sam. Sam was the key here. Keep Sam safe. But who was going to save her? He imagined that they had caught her in one of her rare moments of sobriety. And drunkenness did not a good hunter make. "What about her brother?" he asked, already plotting.

"He was killed by a demon two years ago when he couldn't pay his debts."

Dean nodded, satisfied. "Good."

"Wait a second…how do you know so much about her, Cass?" Sam had been wanting to ask that question from the moment Cass had appeared in the room.

Cass was silent for a moment before answering, though this question was far easier to answer than their previous ones. "You are not my only charges. Not anymore."

"Angels actually have charges? Like, guardian angels?"

"Angels are the agents of God. We ensure that people fulfill their destinies. Everyone has a destiny, but some take precedence over others. You and Lena take precedence," Cass answered.

"So, she's going to be the beginning of a hunting dynasty?" Sam couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.

Cass shrugged, not sure about that part. "There is a role for her to play in this fight. You would do well to remember that."

"A part in this fight, huh?" Dean exploded. "She's the walking wounded, Cass. Right now, she's holed up in her bathtub with a bottle of Jack Daniels, and who can blame her? She's not in any condition to fight."

"I understand that she fought well enough last night," Cass said, his voice completely deadpan—as usual. Before anyone could speak again, they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Sam opened it to find Lena leaning casually against the doorway.

"Lena," he said in surprise. "Wh-what can I do for you?"

She stepped over the line of salt and into the room, ignoring Sam. "Hey Cass. Good to see you. I thought you might be entertaining them with the story of my past…Judging from the look on your faces, I see that I was right." She wasn't drunk—that might have made the situation more bearable, though, especially knowing that she might not remember any of it in the morning.

Before he could stop himself, words tumbled out of Dean's mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You couldn't have known. Besides, it's my brother that made the deal, not you. And I was the one stupid enough to sign the damn thing without reading it first. So stop apologizing to me," she said. She pulled a bottle of whiskey from inside her bag and took a long swig.

"What are you doing here?"

She smiled at him. "I needed to see Cass. You see, since you wouldn't let me kill that demon, I've got to worry about a deal I made. Can you help me with that, Cass?" she asked the angel, her voice bitter.

"I am trying to find a solution, but you have to be patient—" the angel began.

"Patient, huh? Patient? I don't have time for patience. I'm pretty sure that the demon that holds my contract knows that something strange is going on. I need a solution _now_."

"I will find you an answer, but I do not have one yet. Patienc—"

"If you tell me to be patient one more time, I'm going to reach down your throat and pull out your lungs. I won't go back there. I won't do it. I was there for too long, and I won't go back," she threatened. She was shaking as she pulled the whiskey out of her bag once more and drank from it.

"We would have gotten you out in due time," Cass tried to explain.

"Due time? And when was that, Cass? I was rotting in Hell for three years and four months—give or take—do you know how long that is? I was in hell for four hundred years. I was _patient_ for four hundred years. So tell me, when was it going to be convenient for you to rescue me?"

Four hundred years. The number hit Dean like a bag of bricks. Four hundred years. That was ten times longer than he had been there. God, how had she come out of it sane, with humanity in tact?

"We tried when we went in for Dean—"

"But the mission didn't quite go as according to plan, I know. The best laid plans of mice and angels often go awry. Your garrison was falling fast, so naturally, you saved the hero of our story. And I don't guess I can blame you too much, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't stay there, Cass. I couldn't. So I did what I had to do to get out. Now help me."

Dean had been standing to the side, listening to the whole exchange. He knew that he shouldn't feel anything for her, that he was going to have to use her to save Sam. But how could he not feel? He had tortured this woman. She had been in Hell for four hundred years. She didn't deserve to go back. She didn't deserve what she had been through, and he couldn't let it happen again. One look at Sam told him that Sam agreed.

He reached out slowly, unsure of himself, and touched her shoulder. She snapped around to face him, studying his face. The mixture of pain and compassion she found there was oddly comforting.

"We will. We will help you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Again, thanks for the alerts/favorites/reviews. I really appreciate it, so keep it up.

Starr-Cross'd-Lover, Wizziewoo123, Nelle07, KezGirl, and Office Romance--I'm glad that y'all are enjoying the story. It makes me smile knowing that you do. Thanks so so so much for the reivews. I meant to do this in earlier chapters and didn't, so thank you.

RWolfe94--I'm going to try to stay as close the the plot line as I can, but seeing that eventually episodes will catch up with me and go their route, it will probably get AU at some point. But I am definitely trying my hardest to keep their personalities right. That, I think is the hardest part. Thanks for the feedback!


	5. Dirty Work

The weight of Dean's hand on her shoulder was more comforting than frightening. Yes, the pain he inflicted on her was the stuff that her nightmares were made of, but how could she possibly be afraid of him when he was looking at her like that? With compassion and remorse and…respect. He understood why she had made the deal. In a way, he had done the same thing. After too long, all you can think about is making the pain stop, and that's what she had done. She hadn't waited for angels to come and take her away; she had clawed her way out of Hell when it looked like there was no other option. She had done what he couldn't, and now she was suffering the consequences. But he wasn't going to let her go back. Not after everything that she had been through.

She smiled at him—a small, soft smile that looked odd on her face. She was a hunter; hunters were all hard-nosed, cold and calculating, sharp corners, and rough edges. To see that smile—that softer, almost affectionate expression—was strange. And yet, it suited her. For the first time since he had run into her in Hell, she looked happy. He knew she was exhausted—there was no way that sleeping in that bathtub had been comfortable, and nightmares plagued her sleep—but still, just the offer of help, that reassurance, brought her some happiness. He couldn't help but smile back. It was a twisted shadow of a smile, but it was an attempt nonetheless.

"Okay, then. Let's come up with a game plan," Lena said, all that softness gone in the blink of an eye. "We'll need devil's traps, salt, holy water, a rosary, consecrated iron bullets…We'll need a space to do this. A motel room is not exactly ideal—"

"Lena, we'll get everything. Just relax," Sam told her, trying to be comforting. Lena stared at him sharply, not finding his attempts to be helpful comforting at all. She knew he was trying to be helpful, that she should go easy on him, but it she needed to do it this way. When she glanced at Dean, who was still standing close beside her, she knew that he understood. He understood that she needed this control. She hadn't had control over much of anything in years. She had been in Hell for years, at the mercy of whichever demon was torturing her. Part of the reason that Dean had stepped off the rack—aside from relief from the pain—was just so that he could have an ounce of control over his own body again. He understood the need. She just wanted the same control that any other human would have.

"We'll get it. What kind of space did you have in mind?" Dean asked, even though he already knew.

"We'll need the space for a devil's trap…a big one, so maybe a basement? Or a warehouse. If we could bless the water pipes, that would be handy. We'll need somewhere isolated so no hears. Pliers, a knife or two—"

"Pliers?" Sam interrupted.

"The demon isn't going to give up the information willingly. They're closer to achieving their goals than they have ever been. They aren't going to give up now—"

"Lena, we're not going to torture them," Dean said forcefully.

"We're talking about watching the world burn! I know that you saw your future and that apparently it sucked, but—"

"Look, there has to be some other way," Sam suggested.

"Sam…this isn't Harry Potter, okay. There is no magic truth potion that we can slip into the demon's drink. This is our only option—"

"You go to the future, and you sure as hell didn't see what I saw. I won't torture them, demons or not," Dean spat, staring down at the broken soul in front of him. She sighed in frustration, and her expression softened yet again as she studied the Winchesters. Cas studied her with peaked interest.

"You would shield him?" he blurted, confused. Lena stared at Cas for a moment, then turned back to Dean, choosing not to acknowledge the angel's comments. Despite her attempt to ignore it, the brothers had heard. Sam was staring at her, wondering how she would be capable of torture. How could she inflict on others the torment that had been inflicted on her. But then, Cas had just given them the answer.

"Look, it's okay. I'll do it." Her voice wasn't hard or disappointed. If anything, it was the opposite. It was soft and comforting and completely reassuring. She was going to ensure that he was as far as possible from the nasty work that she was going to do; she was going to shield him from the darkness that would come with her actions—darkness that could potentially overwhelm them both. She was taking that bullet for him.

"You'll do it? Okay, that settles it. What about the hosts, Lena? They could still be in there. You're going to make them suffer?"

"Well what would you have me do? It has to be done. I hate it for them—I hate that they have to suffer—but if they don't, billions of people are gonna die," she said, practically begging him to understand.

"I'm sure that will be very comforting to them while you're slicing them up."

"This could save your brother. You would move heaven and hell for him. Yeah, this plan sucks, but it could save Sam," she said, finally playing the one card that she knew would silence him. Sam cringed.

"And it would save you," Dean finished.

"Well, yeah. That's another plus. Look…just let me do this—"

"I thought you had some heavenly destiny," Sam said, interrupting them before it went any further, even though it was clear that the answer was already decided.

"In case you haven't noticed, Heavenly destinies aren't always squeaky clean. Maybe my destiny—" Her voice was particularly bitter as she spat the word "—is to do the Winchesters' dirty work…Besides, my soul can't possibly get more damaged than it already is. I'll do this, we'll have our information, a demon will be gone, and your hands are clean of it."

There was a long moment in which the brothers studied the tiny woman in front of them. Sam could see the conflict in her face, which was nothing compared to that in Dean's expression. He didn't want to torture the poor soul; he had seen the road that would take him down—he didn't want anything to do with torture—but it was Sammy. It was his baby brother. The answer was already given before the question was even raised.

"We'll get you what you need," the elder Winchester whispered reluctantly, staring at his hands.

"Thank you. I'll make a list," she said quietly. "Cas should find us a good space. I can perform the summoning ritual by myself—"

"You'll need help getting the demon secured," Sam said, always thinking ahead.

"I'll be fine, Sam. Just get me those supplies and a list of questions that you need answered."

Dean nodded and took the list of supplies that she handed him. It was pretty standard; he and Sam would be able to pick them up easily. He eyed Lena and noticed the dark circles under her eyes—she was exhausted. He wasn't happy about their course of action, but it was the only plan they had, and it was going to take a toll on Lena. It already was. She was saving him the trouble of reliving it—the least he could do was make things as easy as possible for her.

"We'll get the supplies. You get some sleep. You look like hell," he told her. She smiled sadly, but quickly made her way back to her room. She climbed into the bathtub, pulled the blankets tight around her, and tried not to think about what she was about to do. With a final sigh, she closed her eyes and slipped into a nightmare-plagued sleep.

Several hours later, she awoke in a warehouse, Cas standing over her.

"Is this my space?" she asked him, not bothering with a greeting.

"It should suit your needs, yes. Sam and Dean are on the way. I already began to prepare it for you," he answered.

"Thank you, Cas," she said. He nodded and disappeared.

The warehouse that Cas had found was in the old business district, and barely met building codes. When the brothers arrived, they cautiously stepped inside and began to walk through, studying Lena's precautions. She had devil's traps at every entrance but one, salt lines, gufa dust, and herbs over doorways. Everything that they would have done, she did. The devil's trap in the…interrogation room was set away from any pipes or potentially falling objects that could break it.

"I see you showed yourselves around," Lena said, looking up from the table where her tools were lying. Any and every instrument of torture that Sam had ever learned or heard of was on that table. It seemed odd to imagine them in Lena's hands.

"Do you have a game plan?" Dean asked.

"I'll do the summoning ritual in the big, open room, and then bring it in here, secure it, and get my torture on," she said.

"And how do you plan on getting from point A to point B?" Sam asked.

"Trust me. I'll get it done. It'll be fine," she assured him—and herself as well. Potentially, this could go really, really wrong. But she had to do it. She had to. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some business to attend to."

Sam nodded and went to wait in the car. Dean caught her hand just as she turned away. "We'll be outside. If you need anything, just yell."

"I know. I'll be fine."

"And Lena…be careful." She nodded and smiled at his back as he left. Walking to her summoning room, she took a deep breath and ran over her plan in her mind.

"Alright, here we go," she whispered to herself. "It's gonna be alright. Just don't think about it, and you'll be fine."

Several hours later, she emerged from the warehouse, covered with blood. It was caked beneath her fingernails and covered her shirt. As soon as they saw her, Sam and Dean rushed from where they were sitting on the hood of the Impala to make sure she was alright. As soon as they were close enough to see her expression, they knew she was alright. The grim, triumphant look on her face that could only mean one thing: victory.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so so so so much to Nelle07, wizziewoo123, and RWolfe94 for your reviews! I'm really glad that you're enjoying the story and your reviews push me to keep writing. Thanks! Also, thanks to all my alerters and favoriters. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Please review! =)


	6. Go with the Numbers

"What did you find out?" Dean asked after doing a double-check to make sure that the blood covering her hands and clothes didn't belong to her. She sighed and sat heavily on the hood of the Impala between the two brothers, trying to figure out how to tell them everything that she had just learned. Finally, she decided to go without a filter and spoke.

"That you two need to stay the hell away from Detroit," she said, exhaustion apparent in her voice.

"I knew that already. Did you find out what exactly is going to happen in Detroit?" Dean answered, not harshly. He could see how tired she was—she could hardly stay upright—and as much as he wanted to know what she'd learned, pushing her was only going to make it harder for him to learn what he wanted to know.

"Mayhem, slaughter and unholy chaos."

"And how is that supposed to make me say yes to Lucifer?" Sam said, speaking for the first time in hours.

"The plan is to sever the ties that are keeping you from saying yes. Dean, Bobby, Cas…if something were to happen to them, you would be devastated. If your brother were, oh, say _dying_,you would do anything to save him, and everyone knows it. The way that you Winchesters are oh-so-willing to sacrifice yourselves for each other is pretty much world renowned. They're hoping that without all your ties, you'll give up the ghost and submit when all hell breaks loose in Detroit."

"What kind of hell are we talking about here? Like, torture kind of hell or Croatoan virus kind of hell?" Dean didn't even sound phased as he asked the question. Sam, on the other hand, was alternating between staring at his hands in shame, and then back at his brother in concern. He looked almost as tired as Lena did, his long hair straggly and disheveled in his face.

"We're talking about gathering-all-the-different-creatures-Lucifer-can-muster kind of hell. Demons, vampires, anything that will come, and they're going to slaughter as many people as possible. They reckon that once the death toll gets high enough, you'll come running, Sam. And if they've already taken care of Dean and Bobby like they plan to, you won't have a whole lot to keep fighting for. It's easier to give in when you're fighting for principles instead of people."

"So, they're going after Dean and Bobby and then causing trouble in Detroit to draw me out?" Sam asked. It wasn't a bad plan, and it wasn't entirely unexpected, especially considering the zombie incident with Bobby's wife. Lena nodded tiredly, confirming.

"So, that's the plan? Stay away from Detroit?" Dean was unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. It wasn't exactly the best plan that they had ever come up with, to say the least. Or really even that much of a plan.

"Look, I'm just telling you what I got out of the demon. What you decide to do with it is your business," she answered quietly, laying back on the hood of the car. It was still warm beneath her and she reveled in the heat. Sometimes she felt so cold now—so, so cold. "Well, kinda. There's also the fact that you two play a key role in the apocalypse, so it kinda is my business."

"Do you have a plan?" Dean snapped. As soon as he heard his own tone of voice, he was sorry. She had just gone through hell for them—that much was written all over her face, no matter how much she tried to hide it—and he was snapping at her.

"You keep other hunters informed. When you start to see omens around Detroit, send some other hunters up there to take care of what they can. Maybe that way you can keep the death toll relatively low, and you two are safely out of the equation," she explains.

"So, we're just supposed to let those hunters die for us?" Sam asks.

"Not just for you. For the world."

"Again, I'm sure that will be comforting when they're being torn limb from limb by some big nasty creature," Dean remarked quietly, though his tone wasn't demanding or accusatory. He didn't really like the idea of sending people to die for them—and finding people to do so would be one of the hardest things they had ever tried to do—but it was a better plan than they had at the moment. "Did you find out anything else that could be useful?"

"No, sorry. Our demonic friend didn't know where Lucifer was hiding out, or how to kill him, aside from the Michael option. I can ask again, if you'd like, but I'm positive he was telling the truth."

"Ask again? He's still alive?" Sam asked in shock. There was so much blood…how could the demon still possibly be alive.

"Just in case there are other things we needed to know," Lena said, matter-of-factly. "He could go a few more rounds if need be."

"Did you get your deal squared away?" Dean asked. Lena nodded. "Then we're done." And that effectively ended that train of thought. He watched as Lena stood and walked back inside the warehouse. Moments later, Lena reemerged with fresh blood on her hands. One glance from Dean had her wiping her hands on her pants before climbing into the backseat of the Impala. Dean said he was done with torture, but all bets were off if she got blood in the Impala. Within seconds of lying across the backseat, she was asleep.

Dean studied his brother, wondering what was going on Sammy's head. He had that brooding look on his face, which meant that he was definitely feeling guilty. Guilty about letting Lena torture the host as well as the demon, guilty about the fact that people had and would continue to die for him, guilty about freeing Lucifer…poor, guilt-ridden Sammy.

"Stop it," Dean said suddenly. Sam looked at him, confused. "Stop feeling guilty. There's nothing we can do about what's already happened, and you beating yourself up about it isn't going to help."

"You know, I could say the same to you," Sam replied. "Every time you look at Lena, I can see you brooding—"

"I tortured her. I broke the first seal with her blood—"

"You didn't know! So, I'll make you a deal. You stop feeling guilty, and I will, too," Sam proposed. Dean glared at him, both of them knowing that guilt wasn't exactly something that could be willed away. Instead, they would both just get better at concealing it.

When they pulled up in front of the hotel, Lena was still asleep—seemingly peaceful sleep. Both of the brothers stared at her for a moment, contemplating waking her up. It seemed a shame to wake her when it was so obvious to them both that she hadn't slept without alcohol-related assistance for days. As much as she tried to hide it, to keep them—especially Dean—from noticing how exhausted she was, she couldn't. They had been at the game too long not to notice.

"Should we wake her up?" Sam asked his brother. She was so tiny, it would be easy just to take her key from her pocket and carry her to her room. But that isn't what she would want, and Dean knew it. Whether it was for her own good or not, she would want the choice. She wouldn't want to wake up alone in a different place from where she had fallen asleep without knowing how she got there.

"She'd want the choice." Dean opened the back door and knelt next to her, gently shaking her awake. "Lena? Lena, we're back at the hotel."

She blinked sleepily several times, trying to bring herself back to reality. But the real world, the waking world, was just too far away for her to make it. She yawned tiredly and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. "Just leave me in the car. I'll sleep here," she mumbled.

"We can't leave you in the car. You're vulnerable in the car," Dean said gently. "Give me your key and we'll take you inside."

"I can walk," she slurred indignantly.

"I know. And I know that you can take care of yourself. I was just trying to be a gentlemen, that's all," Dean answered playfully but gently. Lena smiled.

"It's in my back pocket." Upon seeing Dean's expression, she grinned. "Go ahead. I'm giving you permission to cop a feel. I know you've been wanting to since the minute you saw my ass."

Dean smiled and pulled the key from her pocket with relatively little groping. She sighed in what almost sounded like disappointment—that couldn't be right—as her eyes fell closed again. He motioned for Sam to pick her up, but she shook his head. She was going to be more comfortable with Dean, and they both knew it. Dean handed the key to Sam before carefully sliding his arms under her, taking great with her—as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain. Of course, she was so light in his arms that it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that she was delicate. She sighed in his arms and nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

Dean carried her to her room and Sam unlocked the door. He watched as his brother gently set Lena on the bed, and then turned to leave. He couldn't stay to watch more; he felt like he was intruding. The way that Lena had pulled closer to Dean, that content, almost happy sigh—it was too intimate for him. It felt like he was watching a private moment between two people who had trusted each other implicitly for a long time. And, of course, the fact that one of those people was his brother did make things slightly awkward. So he slipped quietly out of the room.

She stirred when Dean set her on the bed, the sudden lack of warmth pulling her from her light sleep. He tried to leave quickly, not wanting to intrude, but she caught his hand and held it tight. Surprisingly tight, actually. "Dean," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Am I monster for torturing that person?" she asked. He should have known that she was going to ask this question, and he wished to God—and all other forces of good and evil—that she had asked Sam. Because Sam would be able to look at her and say "no" without wondering how the answer reflected on himself. Sam would be able to tell her that she wasn't a monster without having to think about what that meant for him.

"No. You did what you had to do," he said gruffly.

"Then if I'm not a monster, why would you be? I tortured an innocent woman, just like you did. So why would you let me off the hook and not yourself?"

Dean shrugged, unable to answer her question. Well, he knew the answer, but he didn't want to answer it, because that mean letting go of that guilt and sometimes that guilt was all that kept him going. That need to right his wrongs pushed him to keep going, and without that guilt and the anger that came with it, it would be too easy to give in, say yes, and let the cards fall where they may. He pulled his hand from her grip and headed towards the door.

"Dean…I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah, you too."

The minute he was gone, she fell asleep once more.

_Instead of the nightmares she was used to, she was sitting in an old library that she used to visit as a child. She found herself sitting on the window seat, a large leather-bound book in her lap, complete with pictures of a growling, grizzly-looking black dog. Sun was shining in through the window, warming her back as she leaned back against the cushion and began to leaf through the pages of the book. When she glanced up, she found Castiel sitting at the other end of the window seat. _

"_Cas…the literal man of my dreams," she said, jokingly. _

"_I only take the form of a man. I am in actuality—"_

"_An angel. I know. What do you need?" _

"_I think you know why I'm here. You lied to the Winchesters about your deal. If anything happens to you, I can't resurrect you if your soul is in Hell. Why did you lie to them?" he asked, truly wanting to understand. Even if he had read her thoughts, the mass of emotions was too complicated and complex for him to completely make sense of it. _

"_The demon doesn't hold my contract anymore; Lucifer does. So, if I help them avert the apocalypse and we destroy Lucifer, my contract is destroyed, too."_

"_I am no longer favored in Heaven, so if you're killed before then, I've no way of getting you out of Hell," Cas told her, concerned._

"_Saving the world is a little more important than saving my soul. We're talking about six billion people or one. You have to go with the numbers on this one. You should know that, you're an angel. Besides, if I do this the right way, I won't have to worry about it. I just have to avoid dying," she said. "And you'll be watching over me. And Sam…Dean, too…"_

_Suddenly, Cas cocked his head to the side as if hearing a far-off noise. Alarm spread across his features as he listened. _

"_What is it?" Lena asked, rising from her seat._

Then she was awakened by two loud gunshots from down the hall.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much to everyone who read/alerted/favorited. Since new episodes have started airing, (clearly) this is going to get slightly AU, so hang in there.

Wizziewoo123- I'm glad that you're liking Lena. I'm trying to flesh her out, to make her more human than the typical Mary-Sue, so I'm glad that you're liking her.

angeleyenc and Starr-Cross'd-Lover--I tried to update as quickly as I could, and I'll try to keep doing so, but I'm in the final stretch here at school, so it may be less frequently than I like. But thanks for your feedback and support.

RWolfe94--I'm a Cas fan, too, so I couldn't resist having him and Lena have some sort of relationship. I'm trying to find the right line between Lena and Dean, so I'm glad that you're liking that, too. I hope you enjoyed and thanks for the feedback!!!


	7. Fix This

Immediately, Lena rose from the bed and pulled two pistols from the bedside table drawer. She also grabbed a flask of holy water, a some salt, and an iron coat hanger for good measure. Then, quickly, she moved down the hall to the only place that the shot could have come from: Sam and Dean's room. The door was closed, and rather than taking the time to pick the lock, she decided to shoot it instead. When the door didn't creak open as she'd expected, she opened it with one adrenaline-fueled kick.

First she noticed Sam. He was sprawled on his back in bed—his boots not even on his feet, his big toe sticking out of a hole in his sock. There were holes in his bloody chest—buckshot. Blood was pooling in the bed, staining the sheets. But what broke her heart was his face—the despair she saw there was overwhelming. The tears had not yet dried on his face. She wondered if he had been afraid—or worse, resigned to his fate. Did he believe that he deserved to die? Was he afraid? Poor Sam.

And Dean. God, he was even more of a mess than his brother. His chest was riddled with holes—he had been shot at a closer range than Sam—and his blood splattered the walls, the headboard, the sheets. His hands were balled into fists, his boots neatly tied in the runner's knot that never came undone. Instead of the despair that she had seen in Sam's expression, she saw anger in Dean's. He might have known what was coming, but he sure as hell hadn't been happy about it.

Her boys. They were dead. They were _dead. __They _were dead. The men who could save the world. The ones worth dying for. The ones she wanted a happy ending for more than anything were dead. Her boys were dead.

It was funny that she thought of them as "her boys." They sure as hell didn't belong to her, and they definitely didn't think of her with that level of affection. And now there would never be a chance of that. She would never be able to convince Dean that she was okay, or that he shouldn't feel guilty. She would never see Sam smile without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Her boys were dead.

And the men who shot them weren't even going to give her time to mourn. They had their ski masks pulled away from their faces—neither one was particularly good-looking, bless their hearts—and nasty-looking shotguns pointed in her direction. She could see the shock on their faces—they clearly had not been expecting her—and they were clearly not happy about her presence. She leveled her pistol at the one closest to her, the uglier one.

"Move!" he snapped at her, waving the shotgun in an attempt to be menacing.

"So you can escape? Not so much," she answered, her voice eerily calm. "Do you realize what you just did?"

"Do you know what they've done? Sam Winchester freed Lucifer—"

"And you just killed the only people who stood any sort of chance at sending him back to Hell before he reigns hell down on us! Congratu-fucking-lations!"

"Get out of the way," he ordered again. Lena didn't move. She wasn't really paying him too terribly much attention. Instead, she was focused on the two dead men sprawled on beds. She tightened her grip on the pistol, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She needed them back—the world needed them back. But then, fuck the world. She wanted them back.

"Fuck you," she snapped, losing patience. In one quick movement, she pulled the trigger, shooting the man in high in the chest. He dropped like a stone to the floor but didn't lose his grip on the gun. Anticipating the other's move, she twisted and dove behind the bed just as she heard the shotgun fire. There were several sharp pains in her side as she felt the buckshot tear into her. She took a moment to assess the damage—nothing life-threatening, just painful as hell—before pulling a knife from her boot. She peeked over the edge of the bed, and hurled it, striking the other man in the heart.

She rose quietly and walked over to the one she had shot, shooting him once more in the hand and forcing him to drop the shotgun. He was bleeding, but the wound wasn't fatal. He was gasping, trying to bleed past the pain, but it didn't stop him from doing some rather creative swearing. If she didn't have three dead bodies with her in the room, she probably would have laughed at him.

"I'll kill you, bitch," he spat.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job so far," she said quietly. The taunting just didn't seem funny to her this time. She double checked her pistol, making sure that it wouldn't misfire—not that her guns failed her in any way, shape, or form—and set it against his forehead, right between the eyes. She felt him begin to tremble and watched as fear crept into his expression.

"You're standing up for the guy who started the apocalypse! I'm just doing my job—"

"No! Your job is kill the things that go bump in the night. That's their job, too. They're working their asses off trying to save humanity, and how do you repay them? You killed them. And from the looks of things, Dean wasn't too happy about it."

"And he won't be happy when he gets back, either," Cas said from where he had appeared behind them. Lena grinned humorlessly as the man's eyes widened in shock.

"And you don't want to piss him off. Trust me, he'll fuck you up six ways from Sunday. I'm being merciful."

And with that, she emptied the clip into the bastard's head.

Immediately, she rose and rushed to Dean's bed. She opened his shirt to assess the damage—it didn't matter that he was dead, she needed to do something, to feel less useless than she did right then. She ran her bloody fingers over the wounds and found that his skin was still warm to the touch. He felt the same as he had when he had carried her to her room just hours before—comforting warmth. With trembling hands, she touched his cheek.

"Dean. Cas will fix this. He will, I swear. I'm sorry…I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. She rose and walked to where Sam lay—not bothering with her own wounds, which were dripping blood all over the damn place—and sat down beside him on the bed. His hair had fallen across his forehead, and she couldn't help but try to fix it, to push it out of his eyes. Using the corner of a pillowcase, she wiped away his tears and her own that had fallen to join his.

"You have to fix this," she whispered, looking at Cas.

"I will. But this is an opportunity for them. They're in Heaven. They can speak to Joshua. They can find out where God is," Cas replied. She nodded mutely and wondered how anyone could do anything when their chests were in ribbons. Right, Heaven wasn't like Hell. You were whole in Heaven.

"Just get them back, Cas. And you might want to take care of the cops that are going to be turning up at some point. And the bodies, too."

He nodded and began chanting in Enochian, a spell that she didn't recognize. Then he was in some sort of trance-like state, talking to people who weren't there. With one last look at the two boys, she rose and began to look around the room, searching for a pair of tweezers, scissors, and some whiskey. Having found the tweezers in Dean's duffle and the whiskey in the bedside table, she takes herself into the bathroom and fills the sink with water. Sloppily, she pours the whiskey into a cup and drops the tweezers in. As carefully as possible, she cut up the side of her shirt and slipped it down her arms.

Lena stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was bloody and bruised, which was only made more prominent by her pallor and the stark white bathroom. She pulled the tweezers from the glass of whiskey and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. No matter how many times she had done it, the pain always seemed just as sharp and white-hot each time. Before she had time to think any more about it, she dug the tweezers into one of the holes and pulled out the pellet. Having successfully retrieved it, she dropped it into the glass of whiskey and moved on to the next hole.

Outside the bathroom, Cas heard her groans and curses, but left her alone. She did this after every job; he could heal her if he chose to—if she would let him—but instead, she chose to patch herself up, to put herself through the pain of stitches and tweezer bullet removal surgeries. She wouldn't want his help now. She would tell him to get his ass out there and bring Sam and Dean back. Though he usually kept out of her head, he had taken a small look when he had first arrived. She was a mess—anger and fear obvious on her face. But it was guilt that was occupying her mind. She was feeling guilty; she should have been there, she thought. She should have been the one getting shot, not them. They were going to save the world; she was just along for the ride, doing the dirty work. She used to be a hunter; now she was just torture mistress extraordinaire. She was expendable; they were not.

In the bathroom, she bit her lip as she tried to pull the final few pieces from her side. They were lodged in her side at angle, and no matter how she moved and wiggled the tweezers she couldn't get a good grip. Blood was flowing freely from the wounds in her side; her hands were slick with it. She knew that it was a lot of blood—her shaking hands were a testament to just how much she'd lost—but she couldn't let it pull her under, not yet. She had to get these last few…

"Son of a _bitch_!" she screeched, unable to keep the curse to herself as a new white-hot pain tore through her side. Clearly, the tweezers had hit something they weren't supposed to. She gritted her teeth in frustration and tried to breathe deeply.

"Lena, you should just let me—" Cas started from the other side of the door.

"No! I've got it. I'm fine," she said, trying to keep her voice level. "You need to fix that mess out there."

He didn't answer, but she heard him speaking again to someone that wasn't her. As gently as she could, she went back to working on herself, but it was no good. She couldn't get them out. So instead of trying again, she poured herself a glass of whiskey and downed it quickly. It was good—so smooth it hardly burned on the way down. It did burn, however, when she poured it down her side, ensuring that she wasn't going to get an infection any time soon.

Outside the door, she heard gasps. Instinctively, she pulled the pistol from the waistband of her pants and headed into the bedroom, ready for a fight. Instead, she saw Sam and Dean sitting up in bed, looks of shock on their faces. Shock and anger and…sadness? Cas was standing at the foot of Sam's bed, an expectant expression on his face.

It took them a moment to notice Lena standing there, aiming her pistol at them. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she dropped it. It slid from her hand and hit the floor with a dull thud, thankfully without discharging. Dean was the first to move, rising from his bloody bed—still clad in bloody clothes—and coming quickly to her side.

"What happened?" he asked, noticing the wounds that covered her side. He couldn't also help but notice the scars. The scars were probably worse than the wounds. They were everywhere—down her spine, tracing the line of her ribs. One stood out in particular: the protection symbol that was peeking out of her bra. It wasn't a tattoo—it was a scar.

"Shit happened," she whispered, lowering herself slowly to the bed with Dean's help. "No, those guys, they...I couldn't let them get away. I tried to dodge, but I wasn't fast enough. I got most of the buckshot out, but there are a few that I can't reach…"

"You pulled them out with what?"

"I borrowed your tweezers...and your whiskey. Sorry. Do you think you could get those last few? I can't reach them," she asked, staring up at him. He nodded silently. There was a severity in him now that she didn't care for. Something hadn't gone so well while they were dead, apparently, because he was definitely different. His expression was harder, his nods terser. No, something wasn't right at all.

She rolled onto her side, making the wounds more easily accessible. Dean put a hand on her side, trying to hold her still. He felt her shiver with his touch, but didn't dare to look at her face for fear of what he might see. Desire? How was that possible? How could anyone want him? He'd started the damn apocalypse, for God's sake—well, not _God's _sake.

With a deep breath, he pushed the tweezers into the hole and clamped down on the piece of buckshot. He pulled it out as quickly and smoothly as he could, but he saw her hands clench into fists as the pain tore through her.

"You still with us?" he asked. She nodded tersely. With a sigh, he pulled the next one out. And the next, and the next, and the next until all the rest were out. By the time he was done, blood was everywhere—on her bra, on her hands, on the sheets. He glanced down at his hands, his bloody hands that were stained with her blood.

_Slowly pull the knife down the center, not too deep. Watch the blood flow. Look at her face, gauge her pain level…then increase it. He slid the knife across each rib—a series of shallow cuts that hurt like hell. He had expected screams. Instead, he got tears, silent tears. _

_Peeling her skin away, slowly, slowly. She wasn't crying this time, but instead shouting song lyrics, trying to be somewhere else—anywhere else. He recognized the songs. _Carry on Wayward Son. Back in Black. Enter Sandman. Burnin' for You. Highway to Hell._ That one had been his favorite, and hers too. She laughed hysterically as she forced the lyrics past her bloody, cracked lips. _

And then he was back, looking down at her with her bloody side and pale face. She hadn't screamed once. She refused to show that weakness. And mostly, she refused to make Dean relive the memories of her reciting song lyrics while he tore her apart. She knew that he was reminded of it everytime he looked at her, and she wasn't going to make it any worse for him. She refused. She had to be strong for him.

"You done?" she asked. He nodded. "Thank God."

"Don't thank him. The bastard doesn't give a rat's ass about our thanks. Or about our lives, for that matter. God has left the building."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much to everyone who read/alerted/favorited. It's awesome. Y'all are awesome.

angeleyenc, elochin--I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I tried to update as quickly as I could. I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for the support.

Nelle07--Thanks for the feedback, and the idea, actually. I was going to go a different direction with her finding the boys, but you're suggestion ended up working out much better, I think. Thanks.

wizziewoo123--I tried to put a little bit of kick-ass Lena in this chapter. I hope you liked it, and there's more to come, I promise. Thanks so much for you support. It's awesome.

RWolfe94--I'm glad you liked the line about the blood in the Impala. I had this image of her getting blood all over the seat and Dean getting really miffed about it and then I couldn't not use that line. Thanks for your feedback and support!


	8. What You Need to Hear

**Author's Note: **So...everyone who read, alerted, or favorited...y'all are awesome. I hope you're enjoying the story. I'm trying to decide where I'm going to take it in terms of including episodes and that sort of thing, so if you have a preference, let me know.

**MG, wizziewoo123, Nelle07, and angeleyenc-** Thank you so, so, so, so, so much for the reviews! They brighten my day, they make me smile, they're my sunshine on a cloudy day...Thanks so much. I'm glad you're enjoying it, and hope you continue to do so!!!

* * *

"What do you mean 'God has left the building?" Lena gasped from the tangle of bloody bed sheets.

"He doesn't care," Dean said, his voice dead. As he spoke, he pressed harder on her wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood. The only indication of her pain was a slight tightening of her fists. Nonetheless, he noticed and let up on the pressure. He felt her trembling under his hands—his bloody hands. She stared down at her side, his hands, unable to look him in the eye. It hurt too much to look into his eyes, to see the deadness there. So instead, she fixated on his large, sinewy hands—covered in her blood.

"What do you mean 'he doesn't care?' He's God. He has to care."

"Well, he doesn't. Not according to Joshua," Sam said, digging through his duffel bag in search of bandages. When he didn't find any, he moved to Dean's duffle. They were out. Instead, he grabbed one of Dean's shirts and began to tear it into strips.

"Don't ruin a shirt. The bleeding will stop in a minute." Her words had no affect and he continued to tear the shirt. When he was finished, he handed the pile of flannel strips to his brother, who studied his patient with clinical detachment as he tried to figure out the best way to bandage her wounds.

"This will be easiest if you can sit up," he said quietly. She nodded and pushed herself into a sitting position, bracing herself against the headboard in an attempt to stay upright. She was leaning and wobbly, so Dean moved as quickly as possible, wrapping the strips around her body in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Is that too tight?"

She shook her head silently as she laid back down, still not meeting his gaze. She felt his distress, the desperation. He didn't want to elaborate on what they had learned in Heaven, because that would make it real and concrete. It would mean that God really had given upon them, that He really didn't care about what happened to the Winchesters or the world. Dean didn't want to believe it, and speaking it aloud would force him to. So he stalled.

"The bandages are fine. I'll change them once the bleeding stops," she whispered, playing his game. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. She didn't want an elaboration on how God really was just a clockmaker who set the world in motion and was only going to come back to see the end of it. Cas, however, wasn't playing the game.

"God doesn't care? What do you mean He doesn't care?" Cas asked with more emotion than she had ever heard before from the angel. He looked disbelieving—how could his Father forsake him? How could his Father not care?

"Joshua said that God knows everything. He knows about the angels, about Lucifer, about the apocalypse," Sam said, his voice heavy. He wasn't going to force his brother to explain—not when he so clearly didn't want to. "He knows everything, and wants us to know that He's done. He's done interfering on behalf of the Winchesters. We've had our chances, and He doesn't want us looking for him anymore."

"That can't—that can't be right," Cas whispered disbelievingly. He looked at Dean, desperate for him to contradict what his brother had just told them. Dean just stared at his hands, unable to meet the angel's gaze. He looked at Lena, lying on the bed while Dean still rested his hands on her bandaged torso. She tried to look hopeful, but it was only a shadow of the expression it should have been.

If Sam and Dean's reactions had been depressing, Cas's was heartbreaking. He had spend every year of his millennia-long life believing with all of his being that God care about his people, that He was watching and caring and intervening in their lives. And now He was ignoring the two people who needed his guidance more than anyone else—the people who could save the world were the people He was done with. He might as well be done with the rest of the world. Hell, maybe He was.

"You son of a bitch," he spat, turning away from them. The bitterness in his voice brought tears to her eyes. He existed to do the will of God—the same God that no longer cared. His entire existence that just been completely devalued. His existence was worthless. He pulled Dean's amulet from his jacket pocket and handed it to the elder Winchester before disappearing.

"Cas!" Lena called after him, but he was gone, not paying her any attention. "Cas! Get your ass back here!"

"Let him go," Dean whispered, staring down at the amulet in his hand. He was silent for a long moment, contemplating what to do. Lena watched as he pushed any disappointment aside and became the stoic warrior again. "We should clean up and head out."

Sam nodded and began to pack up their stuff while Dean finished getting Lena cleaned up. Her skin was pale—paler than usual, too pale—and her hands were shaking. He watched her eyes start to slip closed, even as she fought to keep them open. She pointed to the trashcan and he grabbed it. The blood loss and pain were starting to make her nauseous. Her jaw was clenched in determination to stay awake, and also as she fought to keep from emptying her stomach contents into the trashcan.

"Go to sleep," Dean told her. "We'll take care of things."

"I can't. I have to get my stuff," she whispered, pushing herself into an upright position. Immediately, she began to wobble and Dean lowered her slowly back to the bed. He looked to Sam, who nodded and headed for the door.

"I'll get your stuff," Sam assured Lena. She nodded her thanks, but wasn't happy about it. She was used to being able to do everything for herself. Depending on someone else wasn't really her cup of tea, and she hated that she was. At least the bleeding had stopped. Thank God for small miracles, right?

"I can't drive like this."

"Sam can drive," Dean told her. His voice was gentle, but his expression was still dead. There was no hope for him—God had abandoned him—but he wasn't going to abandon her. He had torn her apart day after day for years—maybe that's why God didn't care anymore. He had tortured an innocent soul and he had enjoyed it. Maybe he deserved to be abandoned. Maybe this was God's way of telling him that he didn't deserve to be saved.

"I'll get blood all over my upholstery."

"We both have leather interior. It'll wipe clean."

"I got blood all over your clothes."

"They were already bloody," he answered quietly. "Let us take care of things. You rest. You lost a good bit of blood."

"Stop it," she whispered after studying his face intently. He just looked at her, letting his expression ask the obvious question. She took his much larger hand in her tiny one, trying to force him to listen. "I know that every time you look at me, you're imagining the things you did to me in Hell. You're wondering why I'm not afraid of you. You're asking if I'm the reason that God has turned his back on you—"

"You're not—"

"I know you're thinking it, so don't try to tell me that you're not. It's written all over your face. Now stop it. If God has turned his back on you, it's because He's a bastard—not because of anything that you did. When I was a kid, my grandmother used to tell me that there's nothing we can do that's ever going to make us deserving of God's grace. We can't earn it, we just have to trust that he's going to give it to us anyway—"

"That's comforting."

"What I'm saying is, if that's true, if there's nothing we can do to earn God's love and grace, then there's nothing you can do to lose it, either," she said tiredly, clutching at his jacket with one hand as she tried to get her point across before she passed out.

"Well, Grandma obviously hasn't met God or she'd know how wrong she was," Dean answered, not unkindly.

"You didn't meet God, you met his mouthpiece. Maybe Joshua was lying…or maybe it's like the Matrix and he told you exactly what you needed to hear."

"Is that what you're doing? Telling me what you think I need to hear?"

"You do need to hear it. You need to stop blaming yourself for Hell. I mean…it was _Hell _for Christ's sake. And if you hadn't done it, someone else would have. At least you were gentle…er," she mumbled, her eyes closing. "Oh, and there's a job in Blue Earth, Minnesota. Lots of demonic omens around one little corner of the state. You should look into it."

"We will. Now stop worrying about it and go to sleep."

"Just one more thing…Can I ride in the Impala with you. I promise I won't get blood on the upholstery." He grinned just slightly at her comments. She couldn't really do much about getting blood on the seats, but it wouldn't be the first time it happened. He knew that she wanted to stay with him—why he wasn't really sure—and he was going to let her. She deserved it; she had been through Hell, and he was going to ensure that she didn't again. And if that meant letting her ride bloody in the Impala, than that's what he would do.

"Yeah, you can ride with me."

"And Dean? I might need some new clothes, with the blood and all. My credit card is in my duffle…"

"We'll get some on the way. Don't worry. Now go to sleep," he said, pulling his hand from her grip. She grabbed it once more and held it against her cheek as she slipped into unconsciousness. He didn't dare to pull away, not when she was finally asleep. Ten minutes later when Sam returned with all of Lena's stuff, he was still sitting there with his hand against her cheek. Sam did a double take, but didn't say anything about it.

"So…where to?" Sam asked quietly.

"Blue Earth, Minnesota," Dean answered, taking Lena into his arms for the second time in less than twelve hours. In her sleep, she snuggled against him. As he walked past the trashcan, he reached for his pocket where he had tucked the amulet away. Instead of finding it, though, the pocket was empty. But it didn't matter—lost, in the trashcan; it was all the same thing.

"What's in Blue Earth?"

"A job."


	9. Strong Like Dean

"You said this was a job…not a deathtrap!" Dean yelled over his shoulder from the front seat of the Impala. Sam was clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip as he tried not to yell at his brother to drive faster. He had never seen so many demons in one place before. Never.

"We fight demon's for crissakes! All jobs are deathtraps!" Lena replied from the backseat, where she was sprawled out, shotgun across her lap. The home made shirt bandages that had been wrapped around her ribs had been replaced with decent bandages, though they were bloodstained now since she had been moving more than she should. There had been so many demons…she had never seen that many in one place since she had returned from Hell. And now every damn one of them was behind them, chasing them down.

Since she had found out that God no longer gave a damn—supposedly, though she still had trouble with that one—she had tried not to think too hard about the fact that she hadn't gotten her deal squared away. She tried not to think about it. If God didn't care, there really was no hope for her. If He didn't care, there was no way that she could be forgiven of her transgressions and avoid Hell. She hoped like hell that Joshua had been lying. She needed the hope that the idea gave her.

Of course, she was thinking about all this because she was suddenly looking at the very real possibility that she was going to die. There were hordes of demonically possessed people chasing after them; they were outnumbered, they were outgunned, and they were exhausted. Lena was still trying to recover from the blood loss, and the boys had been awake for far too long. Instead of sleeping when they dropped her car off at the motel, they had decided to get right to the job. It kept their minds off the idea that God didn't care anymore.

"No! One or two demons—Hell, even half a dozen—we can deal with. That was at least fifty! And fifty is a deathtrap!"

"Fine. I underestimated the problem here. Let's just get the hell out of it, yeah?" Lena answered, propping herself up so that she could fire out the window if need be. Her side was still aching, she was still weaker than she wanted to be, and she hated herself for it. She gave them a job that could potentially get them all killed, and she couldn't even fight back. If she got them killed…well, angels would just bring them back. But dying was fairly uncomfortable, and not something she wished on them again.

Just as they were about to make their last stand, they watched in awe as a fire truck pulled up and began spraying the demonically possessed with what appeared to be holy water. She heard an Enochian exorcism being blasted out of a megaphone and then the demons were gone in a cloud of black smoke. She breathed a sigh of relief for a moment as she looked down at her shaking hands. Clenching her fists, she tried to stop the shaking and hoped that Sam and Dean wouldn't notice.

Dean was talking to someone, and she caught something about the Sacrament Lutheran Militia. The idea of a militia made her smile—the Second Amendment had always been her favorite. If she knew anything about the boys, she knew that they had their guns trained on the new people until they knew that they could trust them. When they got back into the car and informed her that they were following these people into town, she figured they had reached that point.

Lena was not easily impressed—not by any stretch of the means—but the Sacrament Lutheran Militia, SLM for short, had a pretty sweet setup. Everyone in town was doing their job—blessing water, packing shotgun shells with rock salt, painting devil's traps—and it was a truly beautiful thing…assuming that you like the idea of children being warriors and churches being used as armories. But best of all, they had a prophet on their side. A prophet. Nothing like a messenger from the angels to make the world a more comforting place.

As she went on the tour with Sam and Dean, she found herself getting more and more shaky. She was hurting and exhausted, and her side felt like it was on fire. As much as she tried to keep the boys from noticing, she knew that Dean could tell. He kept watching her out of the corner of his eye, and the farther into the tour they got, the closer he stayed to her—as if waiting for her to fall apart. Clenching her jaw, she silently vowed to prove him wrong; she was strong, and she _would _make it through this.

"Are you okay?" he whispered as they walked across the devil's trap.

"Just peachy," she answered quietly, slipping into the back of the church. They stood leaning against the back wall, listening to the preacher's daughter—whose name Lena couldn't remember for the life of her—tell them about another mission. Immediately, Dean and Sam volunteered themselves.

"I'm in," she piped up. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, others began chiming in. Sam and Dean looked surprised, and Dean pulled her outside the chapel.

"You can barely stand up straight. How the hell are you going to fight?" he demanded.

"I can manage." Her voice was fierce and convincing, but her pallor wasn't. Without warning, Dean tapped her on the side and she slumped in pain against the wall. Angry that he had exposed her weakness, she punched him in the side of the face, full strength. There was a loud crack as her fist connected—her hand, most likely—but it was satisfying. The look of shock on Dean's face was also fairly amusing. When he recovered, he pushed her back against the wall and pinned her arms above her head. She pushed against him with her hips, trying to get enough space for a kick, but pain tore through her, and she couldn't keep herself from gasping. Despite the pain, she couldn't hate the position. She felt the warmth from his body and found it comforting. It would make it easy not to fight him, to let him take care of her. But she couldn't do it, so she tried to ignore her body's response to his nearness.

"See? All it would take is a blow to the side and you're down. And once you go down, you're dead—"

"You don't know that. I've managed before—"

"Maybe so, but right now you're the walking wounded. Give it a few days and you'll be ready to get back in the fight, but unless you've got a death wish, going into this like you are isn't a great idea," he said vehemently. He could see the determination in her eyes. She was stubborn as hell, he'd give her that. But she was letting her stubbornness get in the way of rational thought. Had she been thinking rationally, she would have known that she wasn't in any kind of shape to be fighting.

"I need this fight," she whispered, going limp against him. His hands pinning her to the wall were the only things holding her upright. Then he realized why she was being so insistent. She had been injured in a fight with humans—two humans that she should have been able to handle without much effort. But instead, they had managed to injure her fairly seriously, and she needed to reaffirm that she could fight. She needed to know that she was capable, and she had chosen this fight to do it with. But as much as he knew she needed that confirmation, he wasn't going to let her get herself killed doing it.

"I know you want this fight. I understand that. But I can't let you get yourself killed," he said gently. She nodded silently, not meeting his gaze. She was too ashamed of her weakness. Since she had gotten back from Hell, she hadn't lost a fight—she hadn't been weak. But here she was, in front of Dean Winchester no less—the one person she was trying to convince that she was fine—showing just how weak she was. He felt that she was so weak he had to protect her.

But he was right. If she went into this fight, she was just going to get herself and the others killed. And she sure as hell didn't want to go back to Hell, which is exactly what would happen the minute she was dead. She knew he was right, and she hated it. She was ashamed of her weakness, and couldn't keep that shame off her face. Dean sighed, seeing it there. It was an odd expression for her, and she didn't wear it well.

"Don't be ashamed. It happens to all of us. Now let's get you back to the motel."

She shook her head. "I can lie down in one of the pews. I want to be here when you get back." He nodded in understanding and helped her back into the church, where she lay down across the back pew. It wasn't the most comfortable, but she had slept on worse. Of course, the minute they were gone, she was going to be up and about, doing things she had no business doing. And he knew it. As he walked away, she began coughing.

"Is she okay?" Sam asked as Dean walked towards the preacher. Dean shook his head.

"No, she's trying to get herself killed. Um…Father," Dean said, trying to get the pastor's attention. He smiled at them and nodded in acknowledgement. "Father, this is going to sound a lot worse than it really is, but…you see, Lena hasn't slept in well over thirty-six hours, and she got shot just before we came here. Now, I'm not really a strong proponent of drugging people, but—"

"We have something that should put her right out," he answered, knowing exactly what they were about to ask. He led them back into the store room and handed them two small white pills and a glass of water. Dean immediately crushed them up and dropped the powder into the cup, hoping that she couldn't taste the difference. He handed the glass to Sam, knowing that Lena probably wouldn't question whether or not Sam had done something to the water. Sam nodded and went to Lena's side.

"Here," he whispered, handing her the water. "I saw you were coughing and thought you might want something to drink." She nodded and took the glass, downing the whole thing. Moments later when she starts to feel the effects of the drug, she swears.

"You shonofabish…" And then she's out.

When she wakes up, she's not in the church anymore. Instead, she's laying on the bed of the seedy motel they had check into. She can vaguely hear some hushed speaking, and she recognizes Cas's voice, though it doesn't sound exactly like she remembered it. Instead of the crisp answers she was used to, all she heard was slurred words and something about a whore.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, she looked over and saw the boys sitting around the table by the door, an old book open in front of them. They looked awful—Sam was dirty and tired, Dean looked like he was at the end of his rope, and Cas was drunk off his ass. She stood and made her way to where they were sitting—not without a few stumbles—and sat on the edge of the table. All three men stopped and stared at her, not saying a word.

"You drugged me," she said plainly, staring at Dean. It didn't matter than Sam had handed her the glass; it had been Dean's idea and she knew it.

"You needed the sleep," he answered plainly, though he knew it wasn't a defense. He was in trouble and he knew it. But there was a case, so she let it go—putting it away for another day—and turned to Sam and Cas.

"What do we have?"

"The Whore of Babylon," Cas replied. "She's a false prophet, trying to lead as many people astray as possible."

"She's already gotten one person killed, and we don't know how many others are going to die before we get this taken care of," Dean said plainly. "It's getting to be like a witch hunt out there. Anyone who is drinking, staying out past curfew, having premarital sex…they're all targets now."

"Wait, how did this happen exactly?"

"The preacher's daughter…she's the Whore, and she has convinced these people that anyone breaking the rules the "angels" have given them has to die or none of them are going to go to Heaven," Sam explained. Lena grimaced in disgust.

"So how do we kill her?"

A twisted piece of wood appeared before them. "None of us can do it. She can only be killed by a servant of Heaven."

Lena sighed. "Well, that does put a damper on things, doesn't it? Preacher man isn't going to be thrilled about killing his own kid, is he? Well, the thing that looks like his kid."

They all stared around the table, looking at each other, wondering who was going to tell him about what he had to do. Of course, Lena already knew the answer. She would do it. She was vulnerable and could appeal to his protective nature. He would shy away from killing his daughter, but if she could convince him that the creature wasn't his daughter, he would feel like he needed to protect the poor, wounded woman. She found that she was starting to hate playing that card.

"Fine. I'll go. Give me half an hour and then come. We'll need all the help we can get," she said, pulling on Dean's leather jacket and leaving the room. She hadn't replaced all of her ruined clothes yet, and his jacket was the only one that she would wear. It smelled like him, and she loved the way he smelled. It was comforting.

As she walked to the church, she was careful to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. She was out past curfew, so no one else should have been out, but the world was crazy. They had thought the area was demon-free, but they had been wrong about that one—so who knew what else they were wrong about?

When she saw a crowd of people coming down the otherwise deserted street towards her, she knew that something was wrong. When she saw the people's expressions get considerably more animated when they saw her, she knew that she was about to have serious problems. When they all started running towards her at speeds that she couldn't beat, she knew that she was in deep shit. In her condition, there was no way she could outrun all of them.

So instead, she turned to the nearest car, busted the window and set to work trying to hot-wire it. It wouldn't start. Maybe the battery had been disconnected. Maybe there was something wrong with the ignition. Maybe it didn't have any gas. Whatever the reason, it wasn't starting and a few moments later, Lena was pulled out of the car by her hair.

They dragged her down the street to the church, where people were waiting to welcome her captors. The only person not waiting in anticipation was the pastor. Lena watched as he begged the people not to do this to her—to the others that they had apparently grabbed—but to no avail. The Whore was standing aside, watching in satisfaction as people tripped over themselves to do her will. Upon seeing Lena, the Whore smiled.

"She is worse than the others. She has seduced those poor boys and showed them a life of sin. Take her to one of the classrooms. I'd like a word with her before the ceremony," the Whore ordered. Lena was dragged into a Sunday school room—oh, the irony—and locked inside. There were no windows big enough for her to escape out of, and the ceiling tiles were too weak to support her weight. She just had to hope that Dean and Sam made it there in time, and that she was strong enough to hold the crowd at bay until then.

"Hello, Lena," the Whore said as she entered. "Long time no see."

"Can't say I missed you," Lena answered. She was sure that the Whore had been one of the many who had tortured her in Hell, but she couldn't see the creature's true face to be sure. Then, the only ones that she really remembered vividly were Dean and Alistair.

"Oh, well we missed you. We had a betting pool going on how long you were going to keep up with the song lyrics before you started actually screaming. I thought that Dean got you pretty close to giving them up…but I did find your rendition of _Highway to Hell _slightly amusing. But we'll have plenty of time to break you when you get back," the Whore whispered, pushing the hunter into the wall. She took her fingernail and pressed one against the tiny hole left by the buckshot. Lena ground her teeth against the pain, determined not to scream.

"Well, I do aim to please," Lena said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you will, I assure you. Once we found out you had turned on us, I told Lucifer that we should send the hell hounds after you so we could get you back sooner, but he said that we would get you back in due time. I see what he meant. And we'll get a fun show out of it as well."

"Fun show?" Lena asked, terrified of the answer. She may have been terrified, but she didn't let it show on her face. Instead, she pulled the necklace she was wearing from underneath her shirt and fiddled with it nervously. She hadn't been able to let Dean throw the necklace away, so she wore it herself as a reminder to be as strong as he was. She clenched her fist around the charm and tried to be strong like Dean.

"Yes. The angels want to set an example of what happens to those who disobey, and you're the lucky girl. We're setting the pyre up in the courtyard as we speak. And when the Winchesters come to save you, well…they'll get to enjoy the show, too."

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**Author's Note: **So, I definitely got five reviews for the last chapter, which is more than I've gotten for any other chapter. That's awesome guys. I've also gotten more hits for last chapter than any other, so thanks for that! It's awesome. Clearly, this chapter took things AU, and it will probably stay that way from here on out. I hope you like the way that Lena fits into the story. Also, to anyone reading my other stories, I'll try to update those soon, I promise.

**wizziewoo123-** I'm glad that you liked the Lena and Dean bonding. I'm trying to have a more gradual bonding instead of one of those "oh their eyes meet and they're head over heels" kind of things. Hopefully you liked their moment in this chapter. Thanks for the support!!

**angeleyenc**- So, the amulet reappears. I couldn't let it stay in the trash, and I thought that it would be fitting for Lena to wear it as a reminder to be strong. Anyway, I hope you liked it's reappearance and thanks for the review!!!

**Nelle07-**I tried to update as quickly as possible. I hope you like this chapter, too!

**Starr-Cross'd-Lover-**I'm super glad that you like Lena, and I hope you continue to like her, even if she is slightly out of commission right now. It means a lot to know that you're liking the character. Thanks so so much!!!

**RWolfe94-**When I was watching "Dark Side of the Moon" and I heard Dean's Matrix reference, I immediately thought that Joshua was telling them "what they needed to hear." I also just don't like the idea that God wouldn't care. But I'm glad that you liked that idea and that you enjoyed the chapter. I hope you like this one as well!!!


	10. Please Come In

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all my lovely reviewers and readers. Y'all are awesome. Keep it up! Please review. More reviews=more inclination to write.

**UnbalancedWriter--**I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and here's another chapter for you. I'll try to update this and my other Supernatural stories as often as possible. Thanks for the support!

**Nelle07-**-Here you go, another chapter! And you get to see what happens to Lena! =)

**angeleyenc--**I hope you enjoy this chatper. Thanks for the review! I appreciate it!

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"Pyre? That's…awesome," Lena muttered sarcastically. "Well, I always did think Joan of Arc had style."

"What is it with you hunters and your damn wisecracks? You're always joking, like that will keep your deaths from happening. Or maybe it's because it keeps your deaths from being so frightening to you. Is that it? It is, isn't it? You don't want to think about what it means for you. You don't want to think about how this means that you're going to be back in Hell in a few short hours," the Whore said, staring at her appraisingly.

"I just missed you guys so much that I couldn't wait to get back and see you."

"And there you go again. You know, those wisecracks really aren't that funny. In fact, I think they're pretty damn annoying." The Whore punctuated her speech with a slap across Lena's face. The hunter bit her lip, again refusing to cry out in pain.

Her mind was whirling a million miles a minute, trying to think of some way to get out of the situation with her life intact. There were no windows in the room. Who designed Sunday school classrooms without windows? The Whore was stronger than she was by far, and that was when she wasn't fighting wounded. They had taken all her weapons before she was locked in. No, things weren't looking so great at the moment.

But she had time. Granted, it wasn't much, but she had some. The Whore had said they were going to take her to the courtyard for the burning—that would mean that she had to leave the room, and that meant potential for escape. She just had to bide her time, be smart, and she would find an opening. Of course, it helped to know that she had backup coming in less than half an hour.

_Play it smart, _Lena thought to herself. _Play it smart and you'll be fine. _

One of the easiest and most effective parts to play—and Lena's least favorite—happened to be the damsel in distress. It seemed the wisest move to make given her situation—after all, if this didn't go down how she wanted it to, she was headed back to Hell in a hand basket. It was also the easiest for the Whore to believe. Damsel it was, then.

She let the tears well up in her eyes; it wasn't hard, especially since her ribs were aching. They spilled down her cheeks as her lips began to tremble. Lena watched as pleasure spread across the Whore's face as she saw her victim showing fear.

"P-Please. Please, don't. I can't go back to Hell. I-I can't. Please, don't. I-I'll do anything," Lena begged, letting her legs collapse beneath her. As she slid to the floor, the Whore laughed out loud.

"You betrayed us the first time. Why would I trust you again?" she asked. "No, it's far better to let you serve as entertainment."

There was a sharp, hard knock on the door that interrupted her before she could continue to speak. Part of Lena was grateful for that—evil bitches had a tendency to be ridiculously arrogant and long-winded, and she was going to avoid that speech—and another part of her was terrified. She knew that on the other side of that door was a group of people calling for her blood; they were begging for it, desperate to be saved with it. Desperation led people to do crazy things.

On the other side of the door were two large men armed with sawed-off shotguns. She fought back the urge to grin—sawed-off shotguns were horribly impractical for long range fighting. By sawing off the end of the barrel, it widened the spray radius, but it also shortened the range drastically. This made it difficult to fight with them indoors while trying to avoid others, because you ran the risk of shooting people you didn't want to shoot. This could work in her favor.

"Please don't!" she continued to beg, keeping up appearances. "Please, I didn't—I repent! I know what I did was…please! Please!"

The men just stared at her emotionlessly and pulled her from the floor. One took both her wrists in one hand while the other walked behind her, the shotgun in the small of her back. The Whore followed closely behind. Already, Lena was formulating a battle strategy in her head. There was a long hallway ahead of her, but she could see the courtyard at the end. Great. Only one or two at a time could fit through the doorway, making her fight a hell of a lot easier. Glancing down at her watch, she knew that Sam and Dean should be arriving any minute.

When she heard commotion behind her—Dean's grunt and Sam's annoyed sigh at his brother's lack of stealthiness—she acted. She pried her arms apart, forcing them from the man's grip. Before she man behind her had a chance to act, she turned and pulled the shotgun sideways from his hands. Instead of taking the time to turn it around and shoot, she began swinging it like a club. Within seconds, her two captors were incapacitated. Seeing her rebellion, other members of the Sacrament Lutheran Militia began to come at her.

She didn't want to shoot them—she wanted to save them, to give them a chance for redemption—but some of them just didn't make that possible. She heard the signs of struggle behind her and hoped like hell it was preacher man killing the Whore. From the stunned looks on the faces of the members of the SLM, she was guessing that was right. Frankly, she was too busy fighting to stop and look.

To her left, Lena saw the large cedar stake slide along the floor. She dove for it and slid it back to Dean, who was lying on the floor being strangled by the Whore. The Whore grinned.

"There's no use in fighting, Lena. You're going back to Hell. One of the people that you're trying to save is going to send you the—" The Whore was silenced as Dean plunged the stake into her heart. She fell back, writing on the floor as smoke and flames poured from the hole in her chest. Everyone else just stared on in shock and awe.

Lena was staring at Dean. He shouldn't have been able to kill her. Only a true servant of Heaven could kill the Whore. So how had he managed? Unless…

"Shit," she muttered under her breath.

As soon as the deed was done, Dean was back outside, leaving Sam to take care of everyone's questions. Lena joined him outside, but didn't say anything. He clearly wasn't in a talkative mood, and before she had a chance to find some way of subtly asking if he was gearing up to be an angel condom, Sam, Cas, and preacher man joined them outside. The pastor was bleeding from cuts on his wrists.

"We need to get him patched up. And you, too," Sam said, noting the blood on Lena's clothing. Her wounds had reopened in the fight. Lena just nodded and slowly made her way back to the motel, everyone else following closely behind. She glanced down to see her blood dripping on the pavement and was entranced by it. One drop would fall, but instead of spreading like water did, it just sat there. She wasn't sure how long she stood studying her blood before Sam tapped her on the shoulder and she continued on.

"Hey Lena?" Dean asked abruptly.

"What?" she answered cautiously, concerned with his tone. It was one of those tones that told her that he had put two and two together. It told her that he was about to ask some very uncomfortable questions. Questions that she didn't want to answer.

"When were you planning on telling us that your deal hadn't been settled, that you're still on that highway to Hell?" he demanded. She didn't look at him, instead choosing to keep walking. She dragged herself up the steps to the door of their motel room. Behind her, the boys waited expectantly, and the preached just looked confused. Instead of opening the door as he should have, Dean stood silently with his arms crossed as he waited for an answer.

With a frustrated sigh, she said, "I wasn't going to tell you. You knowing would serve no purpose."

"Serve no purpose? We were trying to get you out of it! If you hadn't told us that you had it taken care of, we'd still be looking for the demon that holds the contract," Dean snapped. Sam slipped past him, pushed open the door and slipped inside.

"A demon doesn't hold the contract anymore. Lucifer does. Apparently, they want my soul pretty bad," she whispered.

"Lucifer holds the contract?"

"That is what I said."

"And why haven't you been torn to shred by the Hellhounds just yet?"

"Lucifer is close to getting what he wants. The world is almost his. If—or when, if Lucifer is right—the shit hits the fan, I'll be dead soon enough. Apparently, Lucifer has some patience," she explained quietly. "Now can we please get my ribs taken care of?"

Dean nodded and let her inside. She perched on the edge of the bed and slipped her oversized shirt off—and feeling extra self-conscious in front of the preacher for it. Setting to work with bandages and antibiotics, Dean began bandaging Lena. He took extra care with her, just as he had the first time, but he never met her eyes. She didn't like the deadness that she saw there. Ever since their little escapade in Heaven, he hadn't quite been the same. There was a hopelessness in him that she really, truly hated. His hopelessness, the preacher's despair, and Cas's hangover were all too much for her. As soon as Dean was done with her, she stepped outside, desperate to escape the claustrophobia of the room.

The night sky was full of stars, and at the moment Lena felt like every single one of them was laughing at her. She was trying to hold the boys together, to protect them, to keep them from doing something desperate and stupid. But right now, it wasn't working. She could see Dean's despair, and it was tearing at her inside. She wondered if perhaps her presence was making things worse, and she knew that it was. Every time he looked at her, he was reminded of what he had done to her. No, she wasn't helping him.

She was pulled from her thoughts by Dean leaving the motel room, pulling the keys to the Impala out of his jacket as he went. He was intent on going somewhere, and she knew exactly where that was. He was going to say yes. He was going to say yes to Michael and let half the fucking world burn. _No, _she decided. _Not on my watch. _

"Dean," she called, following him to the car. "Don't."

Upon hearing her words, he froze. "Don't what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't pull that shit with me. You and I both know that you're going to say yes to Michael. You can't. Think about Sam; it would destroy him. And millions of people would die—"

"You almost died," Dean said quietly, cutting her off. His voice was carefully controlled, but she could feel his resolve. "You lied to us. You told us that you were out of the deal, but you weren't. I don't understand why you didn't tell us the truth. Why would you do that? You could have _died_. If you die, there's nothing we can do about it. We can't get you out of Hell. Cas doesn't have the power anymore, and they're not going to give you that same deal again. What the _hell _were you thinking?" he demanded. He was angry. Good. It was more emotion than he had expressed in a long time.

"I was thinking that for whatever reason, you feel obligated to save me—"

"I tortured you for years in Hell. I'd say that's a pretty clear and decent reason to help you—"

"—but I don't need saving!" she finished.

"You don't need saving? When you die, you're going to _Hell_. That's no vacation spa, honey!"

"I know," she said quietly.

"So what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to help save the world. I mean, if I am going to die and go to Hell, I might as well do it saving the world," she said. As she spoke, she realized that it wasn't entirely untrue. She was a hunter—she had always known that her job was going to kill her. Eventually, if you survived long enough, you got old, you got slower, and something would beat you. She had always expected to die trying to save the world. She just hadn't thought that Hell would be her reward.

She took a deep breath and tried to explain herself. "Look…I knew that you would try to save me, and the only way to save me is to kill Lucifer. Killing Lucifer means you saying yes, which would lead to a potentially epic battle where millions of people die, and some of them go to Hell. I can't let that many people die or go to Hell partly because of me. I can't let you say yes, so I didn't tell you."

Dean just stared at her for a long moment in disbelief. When he finally found it in himself to speak, he sounded exhausted. "So you don't want to be saved?"

"Hell yes…just not this way. Please, Dean…come back inside," she requested, walking around the car to where he stood. "We can find another way to do this. There has to be another way. But please don't give in. Not after we've all fought so hard and so long. Please, stay with me."

"I could save yo—"

"We'll find another way to save me," she whispered, grabbing his jacket collar. "Don't say yes on my account. Please come back inside with me."

He stared down at her, trying to keep his resolve firm. He needed to do this. It wasn't just about her; it was about saving the world. But then, if he had done as so many other hunters would have, if he had let his brother stay dead, he wouldn't be in this situation at all. All this mess was partially his fault, and he knew it.

But she was staring at him with such pain in her eyes. He remembered the look on Sammy's face when he thought that he was going to say yes. He remembered all the times that Sam had faith in him, and how many times they had nearly let the world end to save each other. Dean remembered Lena's bloody, tear streaked face as she had writhed in pain on the rack while he tore her apart. He couldn't let her go back.

But he couldn't say yes, either. Not when it would cause her so much pain.

"Okay," he whispered. She took his much larger hand in her tiny one and pulled him back towards the motel room. He went easily and without a struggle. Just before she pushed the door open, Lena turned to him.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then she kissed him.


	11. Life Goes On

**Author's Note: **So, here's another chapter. I apologize for the delay. Apparently, working forty hours a week actually cuts into your writing time. Who'd have thought? Anyway, here it is. Please read and enjoy. Also...reviews would be nice, because honestly, I'm super nervous about this chapter. So...let me know how it is...please. Also, I feel like I should change the rating, just FYI.

**wizziewoo123-**I'm really glad you liked last chapter and hope you like this one. I'm a bit nervous about it, actually. But anyway, thanks for the constant support. I'll try to update again ASAP, especially "The World As We Know It."

**Nelle07**-Yes...a kiss! I'm thinking you might like this chapter, too. =) Thanks for the review!

**Angeleyenc**-I'm glad that you're liking Lena, and yes...Swan Song was epic and had me bawling like a baby. Like, they were huge, ugly gut-wrenching sobs. I have very high hopes for season six...and until then, I'll just have to rely on fan fic.

* * *

It was a sharp kiss. Everything about it was slightly too hard, a little bit too rough, with the slightest hint of uncontrolled desperation. She needed him to stay—she couldn't be responsible for half the world dying, or for the complete surrender of Dean Winchester to the angel Michael—and it was made clear in her kiss. She bit into his lower lip, and it wasn't a gentle love nip, either. She didn't draw blood, but if he didn't have a swollen lip in the morning, it would be a miracle.

But he wasn't much better. He was holding her too tightly against him, and he was just as rough and harsh with his kissing as she was. It was a struggle—generally he was the dominant one, but now she was fighting to convince him to stay. She could feel his fingers digging into her sides and the hard siding of the hotel against her back as he pushed her into the wall. The siding was rough against her back, but she didn't care. At least she was alive to feel the pain. She didn't care that someone was going to wander up at any minute and think that she was a hooker with her client. At least she would be alive to get arrested for indecent exposure. And she was enjoying the kiss too much to care.

She slipped her hands inside his jacket and ran them over his broad chest. He was warm and inviting despite the struggle. She could feel his muscles tense as she touched them; his breath hitched as she pressed herself even closer to him. The cool night air didn't seem to matter as she pushed the leather jacket off of his shoulders and down his arms. When he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled on it none too gently, Lena gasped in both pleasure and pain, too lost in the moment to care that it hurt the slightest bit.

So to say that she was surprised when Dean pulled away would be the understatement of the century. Instinctively, she still held tight to him, trying to keep him from leaving her. The motion triggered memories that he had tried to lock away and never recall—memories that he had been fighting since they ran into her weeks ago at the bar.

"_Please don't—" she gasped. He stared down into her open chest cavity; her ribs were exposed and blood was all over her. She was bound hand and foot, but her hands were free. Alistair liked it that way—there was something about the way that they would grab at him but were still completely powerless to stop the pain that really turned him on—and what Alistair liked, he got. It didn't matter that she was his first one and he felt slightly sick when her slick, blood-covered hands slid over his arms and smeared him with her blood. He was too terrified of going back on the rack to do anything that Alistair wouldn't like. _

_He had worked on her for hours—maybe days, he wasn't really sure—and she had yet to scream. He had done nearly everything he could think of, but she still hadn't cried out. But now it was time for Alistair to come in, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she knew it. She knew and was terrified of it. Alistair was going to make his work look amateurish and pain-free. In her desperation, she grabbed his hand—the same hand that had been tearing her apart earlier. _

"_Please don't go…please…I can—"_

"_I have to go," he whispered. The words were an apology—or as close to one as anyone would ever hear in Hell. It was only as he pulled his bloody hand from her grasp that he noticed the tears sliding down her cheeks. The first tears that she had shed in Hell, and he had been the cause…_

"Dean?" she asked, resting her forehead against his chest. "What's wrong?"

He looked down at her. She was a sight to behold; her hair was tousled in a most becoming fashion, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the moment. He could tell that she was still trying to catch her breath, but she didn't appear to be in pain. If anything, she looked exhilarated. Her hands were still roaming his body, distracting him, so he took them in his hands.

"We shouldn't be doing—"

"Don't tell me that the infamous Dean Winchester is about to turn down sex." He didn't answer, and his silence gave his answer. Instead of answering with words, she kissed him again. This time, she pushed against him and turned, forcing his back into the wall. Her nails dug into his arms as she kissed him, and then he kissed her back. It was rough and desperate, like they were both hoping to find something in the other that they were missing.

"We can't do this out here," Dean whispered between kisses.

"We'll get another room," she answered simply. "Can you wait—"

"I'll have to."

With a haste that she had never really felt before, she grabbed one of her many credit cards from her car and headed to the front desk to get a room. Thankfully, they hadn't seen her when the boys booked theirs. Seven minutes later, she returned with a room key, grabbed Dean's hand, and led him to the room.

The minute the door closed behind them, she was kissing him again. They didn't even bother to turn on the lights. His leather coat dropped to the floor and their shoes quickly followed. He tugged at her shirt, finally getting it over her head, as she struggled to get his over shirt off. It finally came free, possibly losing one of the buttons in the process, but neither of them seemed to care overly much. Dean chuckled when he heard her sigh of frustration.

"How many layers do you have? My god!"

"Let's not talk about him right now, shall we?" he answered, pulling his shirt over his head. His skin was warm under her cold hands, soft and surprisingly smooth. She had her fair share of scars—thankfully invisible in the dark—and knew that as a hunter he should have his fair share, too. But scars were really the last thing on her mind. She was mostly thinking about how much she _needed _him to stay right now, and how much she _needed _him to understand that he wasn't alone.

When he pulled her shirt over her head, there was a ripping sound which told them both that she wouldn't be wearing that shirt again, but neither of them cared. Dean did care, however, when he felt the rough outline of the scars that ran all across Lena's body and the bandages that had been covering her bleeding wounds. The scars were as familiar to him as the back of his own hand, and he had applied the bandages himself. They were the scars that he had glimpsed but tried to ignore. They were the bandages and wounds that he had been trying not to think about. Had he made her bleed again? He froze.

"Are those the scars from when—"

"They wouldn't let me out completely unscathed. But scars are only skin deep."

"I did that."

She took his hand and guided it over her body, gasping in pleasure as his hand grazed all the right places. "And you did that, too. Now stop worrying about the pain when you can give me pleasure."

And then she wouldn't talk about it anymore. He heard a metallic clicking sound as she fumbled with his belt buckled, trying to get it off. When she didn't move fast enough, he batted her hands aside and did it for her, stepping out of his pants and boxers and leaving them in a pool on the floor. Excitement tore through her as she felt his fingers at the waistband of her jeans. He flicked the button open with no difficulty—not surprising for a man of experience—and pulled her jeans down her legs. The cool air of the room gave her goose bumps until she found the bed and pulled him down on it with her.

Within seconds, she was straddling him. She loved the feel of him beneath her—all sinew and muscle. His reaction when she began to further explore his body—kissing her way across his chest—was enough to drive her mad. He was gasping and sighing with pleasure, even as she scratched him with her nails. Finally, unable to stand it any further, he begged, "Lena, please…"

He felt her smile against his stomach before she positioned herself and he slid inside. Both of them gasped in pleasure. When she started to move, it was with the same hurried, desperate pace that she had had with her kisses. Dean was no better. When he thrust into her, he tried to be gentle, but she wouldn't let him. She bit and scratched until he returned the favor. They were hard on each other—come morning, they were both sure that they would find bruises, scratches and bite marks peppering the other's body.

He felt her climax around him as she drew blood digging her nails into his back. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he reached his peak. It was the first feeling that he had had in months that wasn't despair. Every day, it had gotten harder and harder to keep from agreeing to allow the archangel in because everything was hopeless. Sam was still struggling with his addiction to demon blood, thanks in part to Famine. If Sam said yes to Lucifer, the world was going to end in fire and ice and croatoan zombies. And the damn angels wouldn't even let him out, wouldn't let him take his own life. Well, not permanently anyway. It was hard to find the bright side of that situation.

"Dean?" Lena whispered, breaking the silence. "I apologize in advance for how sore you're going to be in the morning." She couldn't keep back a small chuckle.

Dean was silent, staring up at the ceiling. He could feel her next to him, those rough scars pressing against his side, and tried not to think of how he had made those scars. He tried not to think of how the rest of the world could be equally scarred if he didn't do something about it. The world was a mass of pain, or potential pain, and despair.

And yet, here he was. He was lying in bed with a scarred but beautiful woman—whose scars were his doing—having just found that there was still something other than pain and despair in the world. There was still kindness and caring. And sex. How had he forgotten how great sex could be?

"I didn't do this just to keep you here," she said, knowing that eventually his thoughts would take that route. "I mean, I'm glad you didn't run off and do something stupid, but I've wanted to do this for a while. And hell, you should be used to it at this point. Cas says that women throw themselves at you all the time."

"Generally, they aren't women that I've literally flayed alive," he answered, though none of the bitterness that she had expected was in his voice. "I don't know how you're able to forgive me…but I'm…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Feelings weren't really his cup of tea.

"I know," she told him. And she did. She knew that their roll in the hay was different from the others. Maybe it was a one night stand—though she hoped not—but even if it was, it was one that he would remember. It was one that reminded him that despite the pain and suffering, life went on. Pleasure was still there if he would just reach out and take it. There was something else in the world other than despair. She had reminded him of that.

He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her temple. This was a gentle nearness. His strong arms were going to protect her, to comfort her. When he kissed her temple, she would feel the smile on his face. It wasn't a huge smile or the devil-may-care smile that he usually wore, but it was a smile nonetheless. It was a smile and a start.

"You know, I think I am going to be sore in the morning," he said. "You might have to kiss it and make it better…"


	12. ReEvaluating

**Author's Note-**A big thank you to all the readers and reviewers and alerters (yeah, I just made that up) and favoriters (that one, too). I hope you like this chapter! Please review!

**Nelle07-**I take it you liked?

**angeleyenc-**Yeah...I decided that it was time that Lena and Dean both had a little feel-good time. They've been through a lot.

**Sabina-**I'm glad that you like it, and here is another update for you. Thanks for the support!

**DanniMarie-**I always wondered what it would be like for Dean if he had to torture souls that were just as innocent as he was (or moreso) when he was in hell and I just couldn't resist playing with the idea. I'm that that you're enjoying it, and he's another chapter for you.

**bjq-**Hopefully, this is a little closer to answering some of your questions. Thanks so much for the compliment. Those keep me going. I hope you like this chapter and thanks for the review!

* * *

When she awoke the next morning, Lena was sore. Dean was still asleep next to her, but she could see the deep scratches that she had left on his back and knew that he was also going to be sore. She tried to slip out of bed as smoothly and quietly as possible, but as soon as she tried to move, she felt a dull throbbing between her legs that told her she had definitely been too rough last night. She crept out of bed and over to the mirror where she studied herself in the mirror. She could see fingerprint bruises on her body from where Dean's fingers had dug into her flesh, but rather than frowning, she grinned.

This was the first time she had taken a lover since her return from Hell, and she was proud to say that she didn't regret it. Maybe preacher man down the hall in Sam's room would have scolded her for her actions, but she didn't care. Dean had stayed, he hadn't fled and said yes to Michael. A little bit of soreness seemed a fair price to pay for that. There were still dark circles under her eyes, but those seemed worth it, too.

Behind her, in bed, Dean was stirring. He sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes before studying the scene around him. He saw the rumpled sheets bunched up around his waist and Lena standing naked in front of the mirror. It was only after a long moment of studying Lena that he realized something.

"You bled," he whispered. She looked down at her body and found that he was right. The wounds from the shotgun blast had opened during the night, leaving smears of blood down her side. It was incredible that she hadn't managed to notice it.

"You did, too," she answered, gesturing to the blood-smeared sheets. Dean looked down at his own body, trying to find the blood she was talking about. There was some smeared on his chest from the scratches there. "It's mostly on your back. I scratched you."

He pulled himself from bed and walked over to the mirror, thought it was obvious in his stride that he was feeling the twinge of an abused body. When he reached Lena, he stood beside her and studied both of them in the mirror. He ran his hands over her body, stopping when he found the bruises on her hips and ribs. His expression made it perfectly clear that he didn't like what he saw.

"I bruised you. I'm so—"

She cut him off before he could finish what she knew was going to be an apology. "I drew blood. I scratched you so hard you bled. I think I have you beat." Despite talking of blood and hurt, she was still smiling.

He knew that she was trying to distract him from just how rough he had been with her, and this time, he let her. If he allowed himself to feel guilt, it would be too easy to start thinking about saying yes again. "I didn't know this was a competition."

"It wasn't? Oops." She turned in his arms and kissed him lightly on the lips. The light kiss turned into a deeper, more passionate one. When she pulled away, she thought she saw something in his expression, something deeper. Something that scared her just the slightest bit. To lighten the mood, she grinned playfully and said, "I thought we were trying to see who could give the best orgasm."

"Oh, right. How'd we do?"

"I think it's pretty safe to say that we tied." She kissed him again and tightened her arms around him. He didn't move, just stood there with his hands on her hips, studying her in the mirror. In the harsh florescent light, the lines of her scars stood out starkly against her skin. They seemed impossibly white against her creamy skin. He recognized nearly every line on her body, knowing that he very well could be the one that had made them. There was one right down the middle of her chest, over her sternum. There were others over each and every rib. If he ran his hand over her back, he knew that he would find other matching scars there. The same symbol he had tattooed on his chest to prevent possession, she had carved just under her collarbone.

After his long silence, she knew that he was studying her scars. Suddenly shy, she turned and pulled him back into bed, pulling up the sheets to cover her body. She knew that she needed to get out of bed, get dressed, and find some way to stop the devil. But she didn't want to. She wanted to spend the day lying in bed and making love—no, having sex with Dean Winchester. So she just lay in the bed, snuggled against his side, doing nothing.

"Did I give you those scars?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so. You got out of Hell long before I did. Alistair was still finding new and interesting ways to hurt me after you had gone, though he still favored the classics. These, I'm sure, are a lasting reminder from him."

Dean shivered, remembering what Alistair had considered "the classics." He couldn't help but wonder which of Alistair's favorite methods she had been subjected to. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—though she was attractive—and some of Alistair's words came rushing back to him.

"_You have to learn that men and women are to be treated differently, particularly where sexual tactics are concerned. With men, it should be the icing on the cake. Break them, and then take it one step further by making the one thing happen that they would never consider. But women…women think about it all the time. For many, it's their biggest fear. Take them fast and hard and as brutally as possible…"_

Had she been raped? He hadn't been able to do it, no matter how hard Alistair pushed him. It was the one thing that Alistair was trying to break him of when he was pulled out. It seemed that no matter how afraid he was of the demon, he physically couldn't do it, not to anyone. Of all the things he had done in Hell, he wasn't proud of any of them, but at least he could say that he hadn't done that. Alistair probably had, though.

She knew what he was thinking about when she saw him eying her thighs, though they were thankfully sheet-covered. Even if he had been able to see, there were no bruises to be found. It didn't seem to matter, though. She could still see the discontent on his face.

"You're wondering if Alistair…raped me while I was in Hell."

"It's none of my business," he whispered.

"He didn't take anything that I hadn't already lost. Let's face it. To a female hunter, virginity is more a burden than anything else. Always too many crazies wanting to sacrifices virgins to whatever god or beast they've decided to worship. I lost it as soon as it was legal," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, Alistair thought that Lucifer would…enjoy breaking me that way. Apparently he became more endowed in his fall from grace."

Her words made him wonder just where exactly Lucifer had been while they had been in Hell. He had seen demons galore, and other people on the rack, but never the big man. But then, Lucifer had been caged in Hell, so maybe that was why he never stopped by for a friendly visit. So what would it be like once Lucifer was free? Would he stop by and have his way with whichever souls he picked and chose?

He wondered what would happen to Lena if they weren't able to stop Lucifer. If he won, how soon would he want to claim her soul? How soon would he want her back in Hell? He remembered Cas's words about how the brothers weren't his only charges now that Lena was back from Hell. So if she had some role to play in the apocalypse, why was Lucifer still letting her live? Why hadn't he unleashed the hellhounds yet?

With these questions in the back of his mind, he pulled himself out of bed and began to get dressed. There was no time to sit around in bed, not while Lucifer was still walking free. Lucifer who would hurt Lena and torture her in every way imaginable if they didn't stop him. He tossed Lena her clothes, prompting her to get out of bed. Noticing Lena's torn shirt on the floor, he left off one of his layers so that she would have something to wear.

"Where are you going?" she asked in confusion and curiosity.

"We need to go talk to Sam and Cas," he said.

She nodded. "Sam will probably be wondering where we are."

"No he won't. You're missing. I'm missing. Sam's a smart guy. He'll put two and two together," Dean answered with a grin.

"Right. I'm glad that he's a smart guy, but if you're going to have that conversation, I'd rather not be there. I don't really want to be in the back seat when he looks at you and says, 'So, last night preacher man and I were playing poker while you and Lena were going at it…' Yeah, no thanks," she said.

"We'll save the awkward conversation for when you're not around, but right now we all need to sit down and re-evaluate the situation. Since Lucifer is the one that holds your contract, he has to be killed. As long as he's alive and holding your contract, you're still Hell-bound when you die—"

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine," she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"If you won't let me say yes, then we have to find some other way to kill him."

"And if there isn't another way to kill him?"

"Now who's being the ray of sunshine? There has to be some way to do it. That's why we need to talk to Sam and Cas. They might have some ideas. And between the four of us, maybe we can find some way to keep you from getting yourself killed before we axe ol' Luci."

She nodded seriously and climbed from the bed. She slipped her jeans on and Dean's long-sleeved button down. He couldn't help but notice that his clothes didn't look half bad on her; in fact, they looked damn good on her. Slipping on her shoes, they left the room and headed down walkway to Sam's room. Dean knocked on the door, and less than a second later, Sam was pulling it open.

"We need a plan," Dean said with not introduction as he stepped into the room. Lena followed closely behind him and nodded silently at Sam. Cas was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at them.

"Where have you been?" he asked. Sam gave him a look that was meant to silence him. Instead, he nodded and a look of realization spread across his features. "Oh. This is one of those moments when we do not acknowledge that they had sexual relations."

Lena stared down at her shoes and felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she blushed. Before it could be any further discussed, she pulled up a chair from the table and had a seat. Dean and Sam followed suit, though Dean made sure he was close enough to put an arm around her shoulders. They were the smallest war council the world had ever seen, and the most important. Lena didn't waste any time cutting to the point. Not when the point was that important.

"Lucifer holds my contract. As long as Lucifer is alive, I'm on the highway to Hell the minute I die. So, since Dean decided not to let Michael borrow his body, we have to find another way to kill Lucifer," Lena explained.

Cas shook his head. "It is foretold. That is the way that it has to happen."

"And how many prophecies have we screwed? My father was supposed to be the head of a great hunting dynasty, and we see how well that has gone. He's dead, my brother's dead, and I won't live long enough to procreate. Not all prophecies come true. They can be averted."

"Let's not debate philosophy," Sam cut it, stopping the argument before it could begin. "Let's start with the basics. Lucifer is an angel. How do you kill angels?"

Cas sighed. "The only way to kill an angel is with an angel sword."

"That's it? Uriel said that an angel could only be killed by another angel. All we have to do is get an angel's sword—"

"Which is much more difficult than it sounds," Cas said. "I am no longer favored in Heaven, and no longer have full access to my powers. An angel…any other angels that you face will still have their full strength. They will not be easy to defeat."

"I don't suppose you would have your sword on you, would you?" Dean asked. Cas stared at him blankly and then shook his head. "No, that would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"So how are we going to get an angel's sword? I mean, they angels can't find you two, and we can't exactly pick up the phone and dial 1-800-HEAVEN. Is there some sort of summoning ritual we can do?" Lena asked.

Dean smiled, thinking of all the times he had passed the street-corner prophets who might as well have been a direct line to the angels. "It might not be 1-800-HEAVEN, but I've got a pretty good idea how we can get us an angel."

"Angels-R-Us?" Lena suggested.

Sam grinned, knowing exactly what his brother was thinking, and grabbed the car keys.

"Might as well be."


	13. The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note: **Thank you so so so so much to all my readers! Also, thanks to everyone who put this story on alert and/or favorited it. I'm sorry that it took me for-freakin'-ever to update. For some reason, this chapter didn't want to flow right. That being the case, it would be awesome if y'all would give me lots and lots of feedback on this chapter because I'm not sure how I feel about it. Anyway, if you read, please review! =)

**kate-melissa-**I'm glad that you like it and thank, thank, thank you for your support! I hope you like this chapter!

**SweetSeductions-**I tried to find an idea that hadn't been used before for a Dean/OC story. There are a lot of stories out there, so I'm sure that this idea may have been used before, but I'm trying to put my own little spin on it, have a little fun with it, and I hope that you're having fun reading it.

**DanniMitchell85-**I know that you wanted some more Dean/Lena, and I really love to write those moments, and if you look for them, they're in this chapter. This was more of an action, exposition chapter. But I think that it will answer some of your questions, so I hope you like it.

**angeleyenc-**Yes, I'm back. Sorry it took so long. This chapter is kinda long, so maybe that makes up for it? Anyway, I hope you enjoy! =)

* * *

It didn't take them long to find a prophet. He was preaching loudly and proudly on a street corner, trying to spread the word of the angels for all to hear. Mostly, people were shouldering past without paying him any attention, though there were some that gave him strange looks and suggested that he seek psychiatric treatment.

"Because everyone loves a good apocalypse story," Dean muttered as they drove past.

"At least he's trying to warn the world," Sam said, trying to find the bright side of the situation. And boy, did they need to find the bright side of the situation. This was by far and away one of the worst plans they had ever had. It was only part of a multi-stage plan, and each stage seemed to get more and more ludicrous.

"There's nothing that they can really do about, so what's the point in warning them?" Lena asked, though it was more like she was thinking out loud. "Most of these people don't have a clue. The cat is already out of the bag. At best, they say their goodbyes and settle their affairs. At worst, they start freaking out and cause mass hysteria. There's just no point."

"At least they would be prepared. If you had known you accidentally sold your soul, you would have been more prepared when the hellhounds showed up," Cas explained from beside her. It was a shame that he had yet to develop a sense of tact, she thought,

"Well, debating about it doesn't change anything. Lena, I want you to keep an eye on our prophet until we get everything set. Make sure he doesn't move. If he starts to move—" Dean started.

"I know, call you. If he gets disruptive or unstable, call you. If it looks like there is about to be any trouble at all, get the hell out of there. I know," Lena finished with a grin.

"I'll come find you before we get started. You said you left your car around the block?"

"Yeah. I'm ready. I'll see you guys later," she said, grabbing her shoulder back and sliding out the Impala. As she was about to walk away, a hand tightened on her wrist. She glanced back to see Dean starting at her, trying to say something, but it seemed that the words were caught in his throat.

"Be careful," he finally told her. She grinned lopsidedly and nodded.

"I will." He released her hand and drove off, only after watching her enter the diner across the street from where their prophet was preaching. Lena made herself comfortable in a booth by the window, where she could keep a good eye on the situation across the street. Prophet boy didn't look like he was about to take off any time soon, but she had to make sure. While she waited, she pulled her computer from her bag, and began the research process.

She dug through public records for anything and everything she could find on her family. She found her brother's birth certificate—cause of death, broken neck. She also found her father's; his corpse had been burned to such a degree that it was impossible to determine cause of death. She found the newspaper announcements of her birth and her brother's. She also found her parent's marriage announcement and her grandparents' obituaries.

Lena typed in her birth date and hometown and found a slew of omens—electrical storms, general chaos, people doing strange things with no recollection. Demonic omens on her birthday in her town. She sighed in frustration, trying to put all the pieces together. Cas had been watching over her since she got back from Hell—heaven clearly had some kind of purpose for her, or they wouldn't have sent an angel. On the other hand, Hell had hoodwinked her into selling her soul as a kid. Add the demonic omens surrounding her birth, and she was confused as hell.

On her mother's side, she was a Colt. She was descended from gun-making, demon-fighting Samuel Colt. On her father's side, all she found was a history of gambling problems and alcoholism. Neither side had any surviving grandparents for her to talk to, and neither of her parents had any siblings. Thinking that Colt was her best bet, she kept digging, to no avail.

Glancing up from her computer, she found that their prophet hadn't moved an inch, and went back to trying to find out more about her family. Several minutes later, Dean plopped down in the booth across the table from her. His shirt was stained with grease and dirt; oil coated his fingertips, and there was dirt caked under his nails. Mud flaked off of his boots and onto the floor when he walked. Clearly, he had been working.

"I see Mr. Vision didn't give you any trouble," Dean remarked.

"Not a bit. I take it you and Sam have everything set?"

"Yeah," he said, handing her a slip of paper. "Here's the address. I already talked to Sam about it, but here's the plan. There is a loft above the place—that's where I want you. We stowed a jar of holy oil and some matches up there, just in case. Sam and Cas will be downstairs, hidden away, to help me. Until we tell you to come down, stay where you are."

"Even if you're getting your ass royally kicked?" she asked skeptically.

"Even then," he answered. "But we're not going to get our asses kicked."

"C'mon, Dean. You and I both know that as plans go, this one isn't the best. If you're in trouble, I'm not going to let you get beaten to a bloody pulp."

"The angels aren't going to let Sam and me die. You know this. Now, please, don't get yourself hurt," he whispered, sliding his hand over hers. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she nodded.

"I'll see you after?"

"Yeah." She rose to head to her car, leaving Dean sitting in the booth alone.

"Hey Dean?" she asked. He nodded. "Be careful."

He grinned at her lopsidedly as she rose from the table, left a few bills to cover her meal and made her way to her car, staring down at the address in her hands. She put it into the GPS on her phone, and followed the directions. It brought her to a warehouse on the edge of town. She pulled her car around the corner where no one would be able to see it and stepped inside, where she found Sam and Cas waiting for her.

They had jars of holy oil prepared and out of sight. The dirty ground was oil soaked, waiting to be lit on fire as soon as their angel walked into it. She saw the loft above them and knew that was where she was expected to wait there.

"So, I definitely don't like this whole "wait in the loft" part," she said, looking at Sam and Cas. Sam shook his head.

"No, you're waiting in the loft. If something goes wrong and you end up dead, you're back in Hell and there's nothing we can do about it. We're not going to risk you getting hurt in this angel thing," Sam insisted. Lena sighed in anger and frustration.

"I can take care of myself. I've managed to not get killed several times now. I'm a hunter; I've been doing this my while life. I can handle this sort of thing!"

"You can, maybe, but we can't," Sam whispered. "Dean isn't going to be able to concentrate when he's worried the whole time that you're going to end up dead. So if you won't do it for yourself, do it for him."

"Fine. I'll be in the loft." She climbed the ladder into the loft to wait.

They didn't have to wait long. A few minutes after she climbed into the loft, she heard Dean come through the door, prophet in tow. They walked into the room underneath her, and she could peek through the cracks in the floorboards to see what was going on down below. The prophet dropped to his knees and began to pray.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come—"

He had gotten no further when the building started shaking, the lights flickering, the whole nine yards. She saw an older, balding man in a gray suit appear downstairs. Judging from the expression on Dean's face, this was not the angel that he had wanted to get stuck with. The angel—on the other hand—seemed delighted to see Dean.

"Dean! It's been too long," the angel said jovially.

"Zachariah…what can I say? I lost your number," Dean replied.

"Well, I'm here now. What can I do for you? Oh, hang on," he said, looking over at the prophet who was still sitting on the floor. He tapped the man on the side of the head and he promptly disappeared, hopefully back to his streetcorner. "There, that's better. We don't need anyone else around for such private conversations. Ready to say yes to Michael? He's been waiting for you to change your mind, as have we all."

Dean just stared at him in stony silence, trying to draw him into the ring of oil on the floor.

"You think that I don't know that there's a ring of holy oil on the floor? Or that Sam and Castiel are waiting in the other room? Or that your new, very fine piece of ass is upstairs waiting for this? C'mon Dean, you should know better than that. Come on, children. Come on down!"

Lena watched as Sam and Cas stepped out from where they were hidden. She didn't move, hoping that maybe if she stayed still, he would forget. But alas, he didn't. He turned and stared right at her hiding place, not letting her get off easily. Finally, she moved and came down from the loft. Sam stepped closer to her. She wasn't sure if it was for her protection or his comfort—or both.

"Ah! Lena Colt," Zachariah said excitedly. "Back from the dead and enjoying it, apparently."

"I _was _anyway," she growled. Zachariah laughed, as though he found her anger truly amusing; who knows, perhaps he did. She didn't like the way that he looked at her—like he knew something that the rest of them didn't. Again, this was something that was highly possible and very likely, considering that they were bumbling through things, trying to find an answer—any answer that didn't end with Lena dead and angels wearing Sam and Dean suits.

Zachariah looked to Dean. "No? Haven't changed your mind? Still hung up on this "we'll find another way" idea?" Dean nodded. "That's too bad."

Suddenly, Sam dropped to his knees, gasping. Blood trickled past his lips and dribbled down his chin, bright red against a face gone pale with pain. He clawed at his chest, trying to alleviate the tightness there. He was still able to breathe, though each breath was thick and wet and labored. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched them tight, trying to keep from screaming in pain. Lena dropped to her knees beside him, not really sure that there was anything she could do, but it was better than doing nothing.

"Here, sit up. It'll be easier to breathe," she whispered, pulling Sam into a sitting position. He was struggling to stay upright, almost completely limp in her arms. She stared at Zachariah, hate in her eyes. "Stop this. You're killing him!"

"I'm not killing him. He's experiencing the advanced stages of lung cancer. It'll hurt like hell, but I won't let it kill him," the angel explained.

"Well stop, you jackass," she spat, holding Sam in her arms. She could see the tears in Dean's eyes as he watched his brother suffer. Watching Sam suffer was worse than suffering himself.

"I-I'm okay," Sam choked. "Tired, though…"

"I know. Right now, you're trying to fight that tiredness because of the pain. Zach's not going to kill you. He can't. So just let the pain take you under and go to sleep, okay? There's no pain when you're asleep. I promise, we won't let him do any lasting damage," she whispered.

Zachariah arched an eyebrow in amusement as he watched Lena try to coach Sam through the pain. Dean just looked on, helpless, as his lover tried to make things easier for Sam. She was trying to ease his suffering by giving him an out. Seeing this, Zachariah decided to change his approach.

With the snap of his fingers, Sam was breathing normally again, pain free and blood gone. Now it was Lena who was bleeding. Blood was spreading slowly in an ever-widening stain across the front of her shirt. She didn't have to look to know where the blood was coming from; if she lifted her shirt, she would find a deep cut down the center of her chest. The sensation was familiar, and immediately she hated Zachariah for what he was doing.

She was already on her knees, but she refused to fall any farther. She didn't slump to the ground or scream in pain. Instead, she sat as still as she could and tried to keep her breathing as even and shallow as possible. Deep breaths would disturb the cut on her chest, and she didn't want to make things any worse than they already were, though she had a sinking feeling that Zachariah was going to do that all on his own.

"This familiar, Dean? It should be. After all, you're the one who did it to her first," Zachariah reminded him.

Sam's eyes widened in shock. Of course he knew that his brother had tortured other souls while he was in Hell, but knowing that and actually seeing an example of what he did playing out before his eyes were two very different things. Beside him, Cas stood still, not moving a muscle, studying Zachariah. Dean, knowing what was to come next, began shaking his head. He had caused her this pain once, and he wasn't going to be the cause of it again.

"No," he whispered. "Stop. Stop. I-I'll—"

"Don't do it," Lena gasped, forcing the words past her lips. "Don't give in. I-I can take it."

"Can you?" Zachariah asked. "How about now?"

Lena could feel the skin pulling away from her flesh; it was a bright, white-hot, burning pain that somehow seemed to affect every muscle in her body. It didn't matter that he was pulling the skin away to expose her chest cavity; she felt it all the way to the tips of her toes. She gritted her teeth and bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming, though she couldn't stop the tears that formed in her eyes.

After a deep, semi-calming breath, she managed a single, quiet sentence. "I can take it."

Dean's hands twitched and twisted into fists, as did Sam's. They were about to watch an angel flay a human alive, and for what? To win a cosmic battle of the wills? Both boys knew that if they were to attack Zachariah, he could kill her in the blink of an eye, and that was the only thing stopping an ill-conceived attack.

Zachariah studied Lena, who was now laid out on the floor, shirt torn open, blood staining the ground. With the twitch of his fingers, she curling her toes in pain. She screamed this time, but it was a short, sharp sound after which she whispered, "I can take it."

"This could go on for a long time, Dean. For eternity, actually. Or, well, until the end of her life. But after that, it's an eternity for her anyway. You can end her suffering. You can get her out of her little deal with the Devil. All you have to do is say yes," Zachariah said.

"No, Dean. I can take it."

"Say yes and you can end this before it gets any worse. You're remembering right now that the armpit area was so hard. Say yes and you won't have to watch that again. She won't have to feel it again."

Lena shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked at Dean, as if she could—with a glance—will him to hold out. She looked at Cas, begging him with her eyes to lend Dean his strength, his resolve. She looked at Sam—poor Sam—and just wanted him to support his brother. But when she looked at Sam, she saw the wheels turning in his head.

"You can't kill her," Sam realized. "Cas was watching over Lena, too, which means that Heaven has some sort of special purpose for her, which means that you can't kill her."

Rage spread over Zachariah's face as he realized that Sam had found the weakness in his plan. But then, Zachariah had always been a quick thinker. He could improvise.

"I can take her with me from here, and her life will be hell—pardon the pun—until your brother says yes. That might be even worse."

"If I say yes," Dean said, interrupting their conversation. "If I say yes, you're going to give me something in return."

"Dean, please. I can take it," Lena whispered. "I promise I can."

He knelt beside her and took her hand—the only part of her body that didn't hurt. "You shouldn't have to take it," he whispered.

"But I can…so let me. Don't say yes."

"I have to. I'm sorry, but I can't let him hurt you this way." Dean kissed her lightly on the forehead and stood. Lena could see the resolve on his face, matched only by the despair on his brother's. They had fought too hard. But then, how could he say no to stopping Lena's torture.

"But before you call in Michael, I want some answers." Zachariah shrugged, and Dean took it as an invitation to continue. "I want to know what the deal is with Lena. I want to know why she had her own heavenly protection detail, and I want to know why Lucifer won't give her up. Why go to the trouble of tricking a sixteen year old into selling her soul? Why does everyone want her?"

Lena gasped as more skin peeled away from her flesh. Sam took her hand in his, trying to give her some tiny comfort. Of course, Dean was about to say yes, so there wasn't a whole lot that could comfort her. Zachariah glanced at Dean. "You'll forgive me if I let this go on until Michael gets here. I can't have you making any creative escape attempts. Now, the answers that you wanted…I'm sure that you know our little Lena's family history. A voodoo priestess told him that his progeny would be the beginning of a great hunting dynasty. You know that part, right?"

Dean nodded, and Zachariah continued. "Well, our girl is that beginning. She's his child who carried on the family business, and her children will carry on the family business—"

"I don't have children," Lena gasped.

"You will. See, Michael has to fight Lucifer, but after that…well, it's all chaos. After Lucifer dies, there are still his minions that could roam free, escape from Hell, all that fun stuff. Your children will lead the way in cleaning them out. They'll be the bosses, the good guys in white hats."

"And Lucifer wants her because…?" Sam asked. Yeah, he was the smart one, but even he wasn't sure where this was going.

"You mean that ass isn't enough? Lucifer's got the hots for your hunny. And, yeah, okay there's also this idea that if you corrupt mommy, and you corrupt the children," Zachariah explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Basically, he wants you around long enough to have the children—his children—before he ships you off to Hell to have the humanity burned out of you. After you've joined the dark side—because eventually, they all do—you can teach your children about hunting. Hunting down angels, how to kill other hunters."

Lena stared at the angel through glassy eyes, heavy-lidded with pain. She couldn't have heard him right.

"You're telling me that you want her around so that she can be an incubator for kids that are going to clean up _your _mess?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"If you had said yes earlier, we wouldn't have such a mess on our hands," Zachariah answered. "Now, if you're done with your questions, I'll just call him down."

Dean nodded, despite Lena's protests, despite her mantra, "I can take it." She was lying on the floor, bleeding, trying not to scream. Beside her, Sam had tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared at his brother. Cas just looked pissed. Dean was studying Sam and Lena, a sad look in his eyes, though not quite the one that Lena expected. There wasn't resolve there anymore. There was…hope? Hope, with an edge of mischeviousness.

A bright light began to fill the room as Zachariah chanted in Enochian. As he was in the middle of the chant, Cas through himself across the room at the other angel. It stopped the chanting for a moment as they rolled about on the floor, pushing and pulling at one another. It was only after Zachariah pulled out his sword that Cas backed off.

But by then, it didn't matter. Dean had hit Zachariah with a flaming jar of holy oil. He before the angel had a chance to disappear, he snatched the sword from his hand and slammed it into the angel's chest. His charred body dropped to the ground when Dean pulled the sword free. As soon as he was dead, Lena immediately felt her body heal, though she was still weak. Without a word to her, Sam picked her up and followed his brother out the warehouse, Cas following closely behind. It wasn't until they got to the Impala that they stopped and Sam set her down. They all stood still for a moment, staring at the bloody angel sword in Dean's hands.

"We did it. We got a sword," Lena whispered.

"Yeah, we did," Dean said with a celebratory kiss to his lady. Lena smiled and leaned into him, mostly wanting the comforting closeness of his body. He very carefully wrapped his arms around her, careful not to hurt her still-tender body. "Now let's get the hell out of here and figure out how we're going to use it."


	14. Trust

**Author's note: **So, I'm sorry for the delay. In my defense, I only got one review for the last chapter. =( But a big thank you to **angeleyenc** for the review. I'm glad that you like the chapter and hope that this one will be satisfactory as well. You're awesome.

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Sam drove the Impala to a hotel on the outskirts of the city while Dean sat in the back with Lena. Her blood was still wet on her skin, soaking through her clothes and onto his upholstery. She could tell that he actually cared about her because he wasn't getting pissed about the blood in his car. Instead of getting pissed, he was running his fingers comfortingly through her hair. Despite how pissed he was, he couldn't ignore how right it felt to have her lying across his lap.

When they got their keys, Dean picked her up and started carrying her inside. "I can walk, you know. Just because some douchey angel got ahold of me doesn't mean that I'm a damsel in distress. I can walk—"

"I know you can," he whispered. He carried her straight through the room and into the bathroom, leaving Sam and Cas to bring in all of their stuff. He helped her out of her shirt and bra, exposing her tender, bloody skin. She didn't try to hide herself from him—not the scars or the freckles or the imperfections—and nothing could have made it more clear that she trusted him. She leaned against the mirror, closed her eyes, and let him wipe the blood away.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, running the cloth gently over her belly. She shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.

"I'm…alright. Can't say that I'm excited about the whole "Satan's incubator" thing, but we all came out of it in one piece and we've got the sword…"

"So now we just have to come up with a plan to use it," Dean finished. She nodded and opened her eyes to study the man in front of her. His hands were heavy on her body, but comfortingly so. She felt the warm cloth running gently over her back and she sighed, happy, despite her recent torture. Maybe it was the fact that she had been a hunter her whole life that she had learned to appreciate the little things, the small breaks between bouts of fighting evil. Or maybe it was the time she spent in Hell that made her appreciate things. Whatever it was, she was grateful for the moment.

"We'll figure it out," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. It was nice to have a moment just to lean on him and take comfort in his nearness. There wasn't the desperation that had been in their earlier touches. It was nice.

He helped her to stand so that she could shimmy out of the rest of her bloody clothes. Despite her nakedness, she still didn't try to hide herself from him, and he appreciated it. He wished that he could be surprised at how much blood had flowed from her wounds and down her legs, but he wasn't. He remembered how bloody it had been the first time, and knew how painful it had been for her. She was still hurting, he could tell, and was amazed at her strength. She had been willing to go through all of it for him and Sam.

"I need to get the rest of the blood off. I'll just get in the shower right quick. It'll be faster," she said. He grinned at her as she stepped into the shower. Maybe he should have given her some more privacy, but he was too afraid that she was going to fall in the shower. But she knew exactly what he was doing.

"I know that you need to talk to Sam and Cas. Go ahead. I'll be fine. I promise."

"If you need anything—"

"You'll hear me. I promise." He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. He stepped out of the bathroom and found Sam and Cas sitting on one of the beds, waiting for them.

Before he could say anything Sam asked, "How's Lena?"

"She's fine. A little tired, but nothing that sleep won't fix. I don't know how long that's going to last, though, if we don't come up with a plan to keep her from becoming Lucifer's babymama," Dean answered, nodding to the angel sword Cas was holding.

"We keep her alive and away from Lucifer until he is killed," Cas said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I would actually like to survive this, captain obvious, so it may not be so simple," Dean snapped.

"Lucifer won't kill me. I'm his vessel. I can't get close enough to do it," Sam said quietly.

"Without him knowing what's going on?"

"I can do it," Sam insisted. "He's going to suspect anyone else."

"Sam is right. He is the only one who could do it if you want to survive," Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes at the angel's remarks. Sometimes his extreme literalness was hilarious, and other times—like now—it was just a pain in the ass.

"You know that he is going to try to convince you to say yes," Dean pointed out.

"I can hold out, Dean. I can do this."

Dean looked at his feet and sighed. "I know you can. I just think that if he realizes what you're trying to do, he's going to stop you. He told you that if you killed yourself, he could bring you back. There's nothing to stop him from killing you and then bringing you back. If he decided to do that, you're screwed."

"He said that he wouldn't force me; that if I said yes, I would be willing."

"Well, I don't think anyone expected you two to hold out as long as you have. He probably won't be so patient now," Cas said. "He will probably torture you until you say yes."

"I know. But if it's what we have to do, it's what we'll do," Sam answered resolutely.

"You know that if you do this, you might not come back," Cas reminded him.

"We can always count on you to lighten the mood," Dean grumbled.

"I know," Sam said. "But I can't let the world burn. Not because of me."

"I could do it."

They were all caught off guard at the sound of Lena's voice. She stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, water dripping from her hair. As soon as they got over the shock, they all protested. A chorus of varying degrees of "no" echoed through the room.

"He wants you, and you don't have to say yes," Dean said. "You can't be there."

"It would give an in. If I get caught, you come to rescue me. He'll let you in because Sam is his vessel and he thinks that he can use me against you—"

"He can!"

"—Or he'll be so worried about you that he won't notice me. Or, if he's so wrapped up with me, he might not see you coming. Either way, you have a way in so that you can take the bastard down."

Cas frowned, realizing that she was right. Sam was deep in thought, trying to weight the odds and probabilities of what she was proposing. Even if it was a sound plan—which he knew it was—he didn't like the idea of putting her in the middle of the situation that he had created. And if Lucifer got what he wanted, Dean would be left alone. All alone. No, Sam Winchester did not like this plan. But it could work, and he knew it.

Dean stared at her in shock. She was completely serious about this crazy plan of hers, and he didn't like it at all. He didn't like the plan, and he didn't like how serious she was about it. She was afraid—that much was obvious—but she was still offering to be bait. She didn't want to have Lucifer's scheme to go according to plan, but she was still willing to risk it to keep the world from ending. Dean had never thought he would see the day when he cursed bravery.

"No. We're not using you."

"It would work. It would be a hell of a lot less suspicious than if you two just turn up at his door saying that you want to say yes. If you do that, he'll know that something is up."

"So we should let him...rape you so that we can kill him?"

She took a deep breath. Having it put so plainly to her did not make it sit any better with her. "I don't think that he will. Not unless he's in his true vessel. As long as Sam doesn't say yes, I'll be fine."

"Are you a masochist? You were just tortured by Zachariah. He peeled the skin from your body. And now you want us to let Lucifer have you?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"I don't want him to have me. Trust me. But let's face it, you could use me as a distraction—"

"She's right, Dean," Cas said. Dean looked around at the others standing around the room, firm masks of resolve on their faces. Even Sam, though he looked ashamed of it.

"No!" Dean exploded. "No! We won't do it. I'm not going to sacrifice the people that I love to that sonofabitch. Not a single one of you."

"Dean—"

"No. We'll find another way," he snapped at her. Sam and Cas were no longer a part of the conversation and they knew it. He was staring at Lena, clearly ignoring them. Before the argument could progress any further, they slipped out the room.

As soon as they were gone, he slipped across the room to where she was standing and wrapped his arms around her. It didn't matter that she was dripping wet; he wanted her close to him. He didn't say anything for a long time, and she gradually came to lean against him. When they finally separated, it wasn't for long; he kissed her fiercely, tangling his fingers in her wet hair.

It was a fierce kiss, but it didn't hurt. There wasn't any of the harshness of their earlier kisses. When they finally separated, she was leaning into him and he wouldn't let her go.

"I'm not going to let you do this," he whispered. "I won't.

"Dean, I honestly don't think that he'll hurt me. Not while he's still wearing Nick. He would want Sam to be—"

"I'm not going to risk it. Once he gets you, there's nothing to stop him from hurting you while he's still in Nick. He might not—" He couldn't bring himself to say the word again, or to think of it happening to her.

"Dean, I'm going to be fine. I won't let him hurt me—"

"You're talking like you've already made up your mind."

"Because it's the only viable option that we have. There are two people in this world that he won't kill, and it's me and Sam. And I think we can both agree that we don't want Sam going in alone, which is what he would have to do to make his "I'm going to say yes" excuse plausible. If he thinks that you are coming in after me, he's going to be expecting you to get me and get the hell out. He won't be ready for us to attack him. Sam and Cas both agree that this is a solid plan—"

"They didn't say any—"

"Cas did, and it was written all over Sam's face."

He kissed the top of her head and studied her for a minute. Then she saw the acceptance creep over his face, though there was definitely sadness, too. "There's no way I can talk you out of this, is there?"

She shook her head. "I know that if we do things this way and get them right, we can fix this. And I can't let you hide me away so that you can get yourself killed trying to save the world. I'm kinda selfish, actually, and would rather you not die."

"Oh? Does not wanting someone to die make you selfish? Because then I'm one very selfish son of a bitch."

She smiled. "I know. Now, if you don't mind, I would very much like it if you would take me to bed now."

He wanted to push the issue, but knew that there was no sense in doing so. Lena had made up her mind about it, and if she was going to do this, he wasn't going to spend what could potentially be their last days together fighting. So he kissed her gently, pulled the towel away from her body, and took her to bed.

This time, they were gentle with one another. There were no claw marks or scars that would be left from this encounter; no bruises to look at fondly the next day and recall just how they had gotten there. Instead, they were all about tenderness. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her softly. She ran her hands over his body, trying to memorize every nook and cranny. He returned each touch with one of his own, equally—if not more—tender.

She felt safe in his arms, she realized later. It didn't matter that she wasn't wearing any clothes or that Lucifer was out to get her. It didn't matter that the world could end tomorrow. It didn't matter that a few short hours before, she had been tortured by an angel. Despite it all, she felt safe with him for the first time since she had become a hunter. Safety and…trust. Two things that were hard to come by in a hunter's world, and Dean gave her both of them.

She sighed in contentment, and he tightened his arms around her, as if he were afraid she was going to slip away from him. With a smile, she looked up to find that he was looking right back at her. "That was…nice," she whispered, blushing.

She had expected a smart-ass remark like "Nice? That was fucking fantastic" or "Damn right it was," but it never came. Instead, he kissed her again lightly on the forehead and just held on to her more tightly. Then a realization hit her.

"You're afraid for me," she whispered.

He didn't answer at first, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead. But after a moment he asked, "Can we not talk about that right now?"

She nodded. "Sure. We could talk about how Sam and Cas should be back by now—"

He grinned, but it didn't reach all the way to his eyes. "I think they got the hint."

"The hint that we were going to have sex, which would have been awkward with them around?" she asked, intentionally creating humor. He didn't take the bait.

"Sure. Something like that."

After that, she didn't really say much. Clearly he wasn't in a talking mood, and she really wasn't either, truthfully. She was trying to figure out what the hell was going on with the two of them. But then it all seemed too complicated and too overwhelming and something that maybe she didn't want to admit to herself, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. She knew that Dean was doing the exact same thing.

Neither of them wanted to admit that maybe this was the last time they would do this. Maybe, if they just ignored all the things that needed to be said to one another, the need to say them would pass. If they just didn't acknowledge that something needed to be said, some sort of something…anything to let them know what they meant to one another, maybe it would just go away.

But it didn't, so they spent the night, holding each other and wondering if it was going to be the last time they ever got to spend the night together.


	15. On the Road Again

**Author's note: **So, here is another update. I will try to update as frequently as possible, but the GRE is drawing near, and studying is taking up a ridiculous amount of time (as it should, I guess). But anyway, some feedback would be appreciated. I big thanks to **sammysexslave **and **angeleyenc **for reviewing the last chapter. More reviews would be cool...please...? It's like sunshine on a cloudy day, or a big bacon cheeseburger (I must confess that I share Dean's eating habits). Thanks to those who read/reviewed/alerted/favorited. Please review and I hope you enjoy!

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When the morning light peeked through the curtains, she woke and found he was still in bed beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He was warm against her, and comfortable, which made her want to stay there forever. But the sun was rising, which meant that she had to get up and face the day, even if it meant leaving the warmth and safety of her lover's arms. Lena tried to rise, but his arms tightened around her.

"I have to get up," she whispered, knowing that he was definitely awake and listening.

Dean opened his eyes and looked over at the clock. "It's only seven. Stay a little bit longer," he said, kissing her temple. He trailed kisses down the side of her face to her neck. There was that little sensitive place on the side of her neck, just below her ear, and when he found it, she gasped. Yes, he was definitely trying to bribe her to say in bed with him. But she had too much to do to let it work.

"Not now. There's too much to do."

"You can give me ten minutes," he said, though it was more an order than a request. His tone didn't sit right with her—or him. There was anger in his voice, and she didn't like it.

"You're mad at me."

"No. No, I'm not. I'm mad at the whole damn thing. I mean, destiny blows. It's a pile of crap. A big, steaming pile of crap. It's just an excuse for a bunch of douchebag angels to make us solve their family problems because they don't want to. And I fucking hate it. They want us to say yes so that Michael can kill his brother and mine. And you're supposed to pop out some kids who are going to clean up this mess…it's wrong on so many levels, and I say fuck it."

"Fuck it?"

"Yeah. Screw destiny. Right in the face."

She smiled. "You will. We will. Now, let me get dressed, and we can talk to Cas and Sam about screwing destiny in the face."

"I still have five minutes," he whispered. "Give me those."

_Because I don't know how many more I'll get_. They both knew that was what he was thinking, but neither of them said it. Instead, she ran her fingers over his tattoo and laid a gentle kiss there. He brushed his fingers over her scars, trying to remind himself that she wore them as a badge of survival.

"I like the tattoo. Makes you look like a bad boy," she teased.

"Makes me _look _like one? I am a bad as—"

"Nah. You're too nice for that."

He smiled and ran his hands in broad circles over her belly. In the morning light, she looked gorgeous; her hair was wild and tousled, her mouth turned up in a slow sleepy smile. She was relaxed, and the minute that she got out of bed, she wouldn't be anymore. She would go into hunter mode, and while he appreciated that in a fight, and sometimes in the bedroom, he liked the way that she was now—relaxed and comfortable.

"Dean, I'm going to be okay."

"I've still got a minute—"

"I love you," she blurted. "I know that I shouldn't be telling you this right now, but here's the thing. I love you. It isn't a smart decision on my part, of course, I don't know how much of a decision love is…I'm not saying this right. What I'm saying is that I love you because you're compassionate even when you shouldn't be, which is why you are trying to save the world when most of us would be running away. You're loyal even when it would be easier to leave. Somehow, you're here with me, despite the fact that we're both a little broken. But the thing is, I don't want to leave you. I like what we have, and I'm going to fight Lucifer tooth and nail until he's dead. This whole impractical love thing is the reason that I'm going to win. So don't worry about me, because I'm not going to let him have me because I want to come back to you."

As soon as the speech was out of her mouth, she regretted it. It wasn't that she regretted loving him, because she didn't. But she definitely didn't like that she had just told him. It's really not fair to tell someone that you love them when you're about to go off and maybe get killed, but it was already done, and unfortunately, she couldn't put the cat back in the bag.

"I'm sorry…I shouldn't have—"

"It's alright. I don't mind—"

"I don't want you to feel obligated—"

He cut her off with a kiss, a happy kiss. She felt his lips curving into a smile on hers. It was contagious and soon she was smiling, too.

"Time's up," she whispered, pulling away. He groaned, but let her go. After a moment, he realized that she was headed for the shower. He grinned and followed her into the bathroom.

"I thought time was up?" she asked playfully as he stepped into the shower.

"It would be a waste of time to take two showers when we could take just one," he said, taking up the bar of soap. His strong hands ran over her body in ways that made her gasp and moan.

"I see. You want to play that game?"

She ran her hands over his body, teasing up and down his thighs. He was trembling under her touch, waiting for her to take him in her hands. Then, her hands were gone. A wicked grin crossed her face as she heard him whimper.

She looked down. "Oops. Did I do that?" she asked, with mock innocence.

"That's just mean." He was nearly begging her. But two can play that game, and he found himself being equally as cruel. The feeling—the buzz of pleasure and excitement—was building in her stomach until she felt it all through her body. When he touched her, she couldn't stop the sound of pleasure that crossed her lips, and when he stopped, she very nearly cried.

"Point taken," she whispered. "I've never had shower sex before."

Oddly, Dean found that he hadn't either. The idea had definite appeal. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

Needless to say, by the time that they stepped out of the shower, the water was cold, Cas and Sam had been waiting for a while. But Lena and Dean were thoroughly sated and very satisfied with themselves.

After pulling on a black shirt and jeans, Lena asked, "Okay. How do we want to do this? Arrange my capture?"

"So far, Lucifer seems pretty happy to sit back and wait. We've got to make him think that he can't afford to wait anymore," Sam said.

"So, we make it known that you are having sex with Dean," Cas stated. Lena sighed and Dean buried his face in his hands.

"Anyone who has been keeping a close eye on us will know that by now," Lena said. Dean stared at her, almost in disbelief. "What? We haven't exactly been secretive about it. If we get me close enough to him, he'll take me."

"So we go to…?" Sam asked.

"Detroit," Dean answered reluctantly. "We go to Detroit."

"That's not too far. We can be there by this afternoon."

"Then let's move out," Lena said, grabbing her things and heading for the parking lot. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Sam and Cas had gotten her car for her the night before. As Dean moved to take her things out of her car to move them into the Impala, she stopped him. "I have to make this drive alone. If I'm not by myself, they're not going to come. I have to make sure to give them plenty of opportunity."

He clenched his jaw, but nodded. He didn't want to let her drive this alone, but it was what they had to do. He kissed her quickly on the lips and squeezed her hand. "Be careful."

"Will do."

And then they were off. She stayed a good distance out in front of them, sometimes losing them on the back roads. Dean didn't like it, and it was obvious that Sam and Cas didn't particularly like it, either. Dean glanced at Sam nervously.

"She's giving them plenty of opportunity, isn't she?"

"I don't think they'll take her like this. Not while she's moving. And we're still too far out," Sam answered, though it was obvious that he was worried, too.

If there were demons or monsters or anything supernatural of any type around, they were staying out of sight. The drive was relatively boring, and Lena spent most of the time entertaining herself by singing outrageously loud in that horrible road-trip singing voice that most people reserved for when they were alone in the car.

It wasn't until they reached the outskirts of Detroit that she started to feel anything. It was like her spidey sense was tingling—the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she had goosebumps on her flesh. She could practically feel them staring at her, hovering over her like a storm cloud. At a stoplight, she sent Dean a text message. Then she promptly deleted the record of it from her phone.

"Stopping next drugstore."

Dean swore as Sam read him the message. She had pulled too far out in front of them for them to see where she was stopping, and by the time they got to where she was, any demon might have already have had the chance to take her.

She had to give Lucifer's minions a chance to make their move, and she wanted to do it before she got too close to the heart of Detroit, so she could use the excuse that she was headed to a job somewhere else. And she had heard about Sam and Dean getting rammed by the eighteen wheeler a few years back and definitely wanted to avoid that.

As she pulled into the parking lot, she smiled to herself as she thought about her plan. Careful not to appear too obvious, she made her way into the drugstore and went straight to the family planning aisle, where she picked up a box of condoms, some KY, and a pregnancy test. Then for affect, and because she was actually hungry, she grabbed a bag of chips, a pack of gum, and a coke. Needless to say, the clerk behind the counter found gave her interesting looks, to say the least.

When she parked, she made sure to do so at the back of the parking lot, giving any minions plenty of opportunity. And as she was walking back to her car, they took it. A large van with blacked out windows pulled up between her and her car; several people sprang out and grabbed her. She fought back—just hard enough to make them believe that she didn't want to be taken. But despite her fighting, they still got her into the car quickly, though not before she dropped her bag of goodies on the ground.

When Sam, Dean, and Cas pulled up behind her ten minutes later, they immediately spotted her car. Sam headed into the store to look for her while Dean looked around the car for any sign of struggle. Finding her bag, he picked it up and looked inside.

"Well, she certainly got their attention," Dean told his brother as he approached. Sam looked confused until he saw his brother hold up the KY jelly and pregnancy tests.

"I'd say that would do it. Now where do we think they would have taken her?"

"Further into Detroit. There have been temperature drops in a small five-block radius downtown. Plus some demonic omens. That's what my money's on."

"We should wait a few minutes, and then go," Sam said. "We can't let them know that we're coming. There has to be some kind of delay so that the whole thing doesn't look staged. If it looks staged—"

"We're screwed," Cas finished. Both brothers stared at him in awe at his use of nonliteral language.

They grabbed a quick bite to eat and got gas a few miles down the road, waiting to give the demons time to take Lena. It didn't sit well with Dean, but it was what had to be done. Her words from earlier rang in his ears. _I'm not going to let him have me so I can come back to you. _He just hoped that Lucifer wouldn't make her a liar.

Half an hour later, they got a text. "SOS. Outside Detroit."

As soon as they got the text, they were in the Impala and headed towards those five blocks in downtown Detroit hoping they weren't too late.

Lena, in the backseat of a demon-filled van, was trying her best to stay calm. She knew that this was all part of the plan, that they were coming for her and that she could handle herself until they got there, but it didn't make it any easier to know that she was going to be face to face with Lucifer shortly. Definitely didn't sit well at all.

She sent Dean a simple text "SOS. Outside Detroit" just in case someone checked her phone. She didn't really think that they would, but at least this would add to their cover that the boys were coming to rescue her, not take down Lucifer.

When the van stopped behind an older-looking building, it was all she could do not to throw up with nervousness. She fought the demons as they tried to take her into the building—for real this time. She didn't hold back, and very nearly escaped twice before one finally put a knife to her throat and forced her to come quietly. She was marched up a set of stairs and into a room with windows overlooking the street.

Standing at the window was Lucifer. His vessel was looking rough, the skin dying, nearly falling off his face. She could see the circles under his eyes, and was wondering how the hell he hadn't burned through this vessel already. But then, she was maybe about to get tortured, so that probably wasn't the most appropriate thing to be thinking about.

"Lena Colt. So very nice to finally meet you," he said, turning to face her.

"Wish I could say the same," she answered, her voice trembling. "But I'm not really a big fan of your work, so…"

He chuckled. "How funny. I find that many of you humans make jokes when you're afraid. Does it distract you from how terrified you are?"

"If it's supposed to, it's not really working," she said honestly. Again, he laughed.

"You know, I think that I am going to like you very much, Lena. Now, how do you feel about motherhood?"


	16. Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note: **So, here is the final chapter. I hope that you like it, and I wanted to say thank you to **angeleyenc, sammysexslave, **and **BlueEyedPisces** for reviewing the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who read/favorited/put this story on alert. This the is the final chapter of my first multi-chapter Supernatural fic, so any feedback would be great so that I know what is working, what didn't work, and all that sort of fun thing. So, please reivew!

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"Dean, you've got to slow down. You're pushing a hundred, and getting us killed in a car accident sure as hell isn't going to save Lena," Sam said, clutching his seatbelt in a white-knuckled death grip. Dean's grip on the steering wheel was very much the same, and Cas sat in the back, oblivious.

"You should know from experience that no death of yours would be truly lasting. It would only delay your arrival," Cas remarked.

"That's still more time than we would want to waste," Sam answered, eyeing his brother. Dean was staring intently at the road in front of him as if he hadn't heard his brother speak. Realizing that nothing he said was going to make any difference whatsoever, he heaved a sigh of resigned frustration and continued to clutch at his seatbelt. Once got onto the interstate to take them into Detroit, Sam realized that they had very little in way of an actual plan. When he pointed this out, Dean shrugged.

"Take the sword, stab the Devil. Seem's pretty straightforward."

"Lucifer will be stronger than any angel that you have ever faced," Cas said from the back seat. "It will be worse than when you faced Zachariah."

"No, it won't," Dean answered tersely. Nothing could be worse than what Zachariah had done. Zachariah had started to flay Lena alive—the same way that Dean had in hell—and he was supposed to be one of the good guys. No, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Lucifer was an evil son of a bitch and he was supposed to be causing pain and misery. And he wasn't the one who was going to stand back and let her be hurt this time, ultimatums be damned.

"Lucifer is susceptible to holy fire just like every other angel," Sam said. "Would it kill him?"

"No," Cas said. "He is stronger than most. A fallen archangel. It would burn his vessel away, but he would be able to regenerate in a matter of minutes."

"That would be enough time for us to set up a holy oil circle to trap him though, right?"

"Perhaps. But in order to stab him, someone would have to step inside the circle with him, and the circle would only contain his powers—"

"Meaning?" Dean asked, a tad snappishly, from the front of the car.

"Inside the circle, he still has all his powers at his disposal. He could destroy you with the snap of his fingers."

"So that means that the only person who could step in would be me," Sam concluded. There was a long, tense silence in the car. "It's the truth and we all know it. Lena is currently unarmed, and might not be in any kind of shape to fight Lucifer when we get there. And even if she was, you're not going to let her step into the circle," he finished, pointing at his brother. Dean didn't bother to argue, because he knew that his brother was right.

"So our plan is to firebomb Lucifer with holy oil and hope that somehow Sam gets close enough to kill him?" Sam nodded. "And you like this plan," he asked, looking at Cas in the rearview mirror.

"No. It is the worst plan I have ever heard, but I find that you usually exceed my expectations."

It took them too long to get to Detroit, in Dean's opinion. It was too long for Sam, too, who had to put up with Dean's obnoxious nervous habits the whole time. Sam tried to make light conversation, to push the nervousness aside and act like there was no chance that this plan would fail. Dean didn't play along. Sam remembered when they had sung "Dead or Alive" at the top of their lungs in the car when Dean had less than 24 hours to live. Maybe he only liked to joke when it was his life on the line.

"Dean, Lena's smart and tough. I'm sure she's—"

"She's fine," Dean said quietly, not taking his eyes off the road. "She's fine."

And she was fine, for the most part. Lucifer hadn't tied her up, which was a plus, except that she knew the reason he hadn't tied her up was because he could overpower her in a heartbeat if he really wanted to. But he didn't. Instead, he spent the whole time talking to her, telling her his life story about how God and Michael betrayed him.

When she realized what he was doing, she very nearly laughed. "Mr. Lucifer, you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?"

He smiled at her, a real, genuine smile that actually reached his eyes. It wasn't the wolfish, predatory smile that she had expected. Ever so gently, he reached out and touched her cheek. His hands were cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth she had had with Dean just a few hours ago. But he wasn't harsh or violent like she had expected, which was a relief.

"Most humans want kindness in a mate, do they not?"

"Yes. Yes, we do," she answered quietly.

"And you want tenderness and understanding?" he asked, studying her face.

She nodded. "Yes."

"I understand. Your father treated you brother better than he ever treated you, and then your brother betrayed you. He tricked you into selling your soul when you were too young to understand. He sent you to Hell. My father did the same thing. He treated Michael better than the rest, even though I loved him better than all the others. And then, at his request, Michael betrayed me and cast me into Hell. I know what you've been through. No one else can understand that the way I do," he said, his voice velvety soft.

"And our children…we know what it's like to be the unfavored child. Our children would never hurt the way we did. They would never feel neglected or despised, and they would never want for anything. I would be a good father."

Lucifer wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, resting his head on top of hers. It all seemed too domestic to her; Lucifer wasn't supposed to want a happy, healthy home with kids crawling around on the floor and playing with the family dog. But those children would be cold, heartless killers, she reminded herself, playing with the family hellhound. He would torture her and twist her into something demonic so she could help destroy the world. They would be the family that slays together, slaying the forces of good. But if playing along kept her from being tortured, she would.

She shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was from fear or cold. No, she decided, it was both. Lucifer chose to interpret it as cold, and pulled away. Under all the dark circles and the dead skin, she could see the sincerity in his eyes. He wanted her to understand, to see things the way that he did so that they could be happy. If she could see things his way, she would be happy with what had to happen to her. He kissed her gently on the forehead, the cheeks, lightly across the lips.

There was a loud crashing sound and some screaming from outside, and Lucifer pulled away from her. Quickly, he ran to the window to see what was going on. She couldn't see past him, but she knew that it had to be Dean, Sam, and Cas coming to bust her out and ice the devil. But she wasn't supposed to know this, so she tried to look as surprised as possible.

Lucifer grinned; it was a cold grin, so different from the genuine smile he had shown her earlier. "It looks like your lover has decided that you need saving. Dean really isn't the brightest, is he? He's delivering me my true vessel, and very shortly we can get to work on building that family," he said, kissing her again. "There's going to be some fighting, and I don't want you hurt. Go out this door to the room across the hall."

She nodded, and as she stepped towards the door, it broke open. Dean lead the charge, pushing her out of the way as Cas and Sam threw two flaming bottles at Lucifer. He exploded into flames, screaming at the excruciating pain, and burned up in seconds.

"Alright, let's get you out of here," Dean told her, taking her hand in is. He tossed Sam the angel sword as he guided Lena towards the door.

"What? He's dead, righ—"

"No. He'll be back shortly, and you have to get out of here," Cas said from behind her.

"I'm not leaving you guys. He thinks that I'm drinking his cool aid and buying into this whole "happy family" yarn of his. If I leave, it's only going to piss him off." Behind Dean, Sam was pouring a ring of holy oil onto the floor, and Cas was already prepared with a lighter at the ready. She smiled and kissed Dean quick and hard on the mouth. "I have an idea," she whispered. "Trust me."

She quickly took her place hiding in the corner of the room, out of sight of her rescuers. Picking up a large chuck of the broken door, Lena clutched it in her hands as if using it as a weapon, and sat back to wait for Lucifer to reappear. It didn't take long at all. He reappeared, looking slightly worse for wear than he had when he disappeared. As soon as he appeared in the circle, Cas dropped the lighter and it went up in flames.

Lucifer looked around, clearly in a state of near panic, until he saw Lena crouched in the corner with her weapon, apparently unseen by Dean and the others. Then Lucifer grinned and turned to his captors. "So this was your plan? Save the girl and trap me in flaming holy fire? I hate to tell you this, but the fire is going to burn out sooner or later."

"It will keep you here long enough for us to get Lena," Dean said roughly. "Now where is she, you son of a bitch?"

"She was here when you broke down my door. She didn't run to you with open arms?" he asked, sounding far too pleased with himself.

"You brainwashed her, you bastard. Now where did she go?" Dean demanded.

"I haven't the foggiest idea."

"He's lying," Cas said. Even Lucifer rolled his eyes.

"Tell us where she is, or we're going to Molotov you into the next millennium," Sam snapped. "And I imagine that after a while it would get old."

"Sam, I don't know why you're fighting me on this. You and I...you understand what it is to be a disappointment to your father, and so do I. And Lena does, too. We're birds of a feather, the three of us. We belong together. She knows this. She accepted that we're meant to be together."

"No, we're not," Sam answered, his teeth clenched tightly.

"You're worried that we would hurt her. You think that she wouldn't want to be with us, to know us…in the Biblical sense. But she does. She understands about family and the way that things are supposed to be between a husband and wife and their children. And we wouldn't hurt her, Sam. We could do things to her that would make her moan in pleasure and beg for more—"

"Stop it," Dean growled, not wanting to hear it. He hated the idea of Lucifer having his hands on Lena, and he especially hated the idea of her liking it.

"What? You don't want to hear about how she wants a family, and you'll never be able to give her one. It isn't really your fault, and I understand that. We could say it was John's. But you'll never be able to have that family because the road will always be calling your name. You'll always have the urge to sow your wild oats. I can give her a family—"

"A family of monsters. You would torture her!"

"She would let go of her humanity for us. For her family. Because she would love us."

"I would, Dean," Lena said, stepping out of her corner, the piece of the door lowered but still in her hand. "He understands what is means to be the child that's always a disappointment. You were John's perfect, golden child. You'll never understand what it means to be hated by your parents."

As she spoke, she crossed the room to where Lucifer was trapped in the holy fire. When Dean tried to stop her from entering the circle, she swung at him with the piece of wood, successful in her attempt to repel him. With a graceful leap, she entered the circle and took her place beside Lucifer. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her possessively on the mouth. The little moan of pleasure that it elicited from Lena was enough to make Dean want to jump in there and beat the hell out of him. When they pulled away, Lena was panting, her breath visible in the chill emanating from Lucifer.

"This is how it's supposed to be, Sam. Come with us. Say yes," Lena whispered extending her hand. Sam looked at his brother and then into the circle with Lucifer and Lena. After a long moment, he nodded.

"This is how it has to be to be, Dean. You know that we can't fight destiny forever," he said. Then he stepped into the circle. Lena smiled and kissed Lucifer, putting her arms around him and pulling him close. When she released him, she could see that genuine, happy smile on his face.

And then it changed to a look of shock and horror as Sam jammed the angel sword through his heart. Lucifer dropped to his knees, crying out in pain. But it wasn't a scream or a groan, it was a whisper. It was a sad, wistful whisper.

"Lena…"

Then someone was pulling her backwards out of the circle and pushing her to the ground. She felt the weight of someone's body over her as her back slammed into the hard wooden floor; it was a warm body, human. A hand came over her eyes, but even so, she could still see the powerful light that filled the room. And then, in a flash, it was gone. It was gone and they were left in darkness.

She peeled open her eyes and pushed back a familiar hand. Even without looking, she recognized those calluses and those short, close-cut fingernails. The faint smell of motor oil and motel room soap made her smile.

"Dean, I think you can let me up now," she whispered breathlessly. He studied her underneath him, checking to make sure that she was whole and unhurt.

"No. Not yet," he answered, kissing her soundly. It was a slow, unhurried kiss. He could take his time now, because they had all the time in the world. Well, all the time that people had in the world. She wound her fingers in his hair, trying to make sure that he was there, that he was alright.

"You know that I didn't mean anything that I said. I don't want to be with—"

"Shh…I know," he said, gently cupping her face in his hands.

"—Lucifer and I don't want to have evil babies—"

"And I don't want to watch you two make those non-evil babies," Sam grumbled loudly from across the room. Upon hearing him, Lena blushed profusely. Dean just grinned and helped her up from the floor. Everyone was still in one piece accept for Nick, Lucifer's vessel, who was lying in a puddle of blood on the floor. Cas and Sam quickly pulled themselves off the floor and Sam guided a clueless Cas out the door. "We'll just be waiting in the car," Sam said over his shoulder.

Lena and Dean grinned. "I'm serious, Dean. I didn't mean anything that I said. Lucifer was trying to seduce me, to make me believe that he could give me the perfect family, and if I played along, he didn't hurt me. And I thought that if I was still…in one piece when you got here, I could help you kill hi—"

"I know. But what he said about me…some of it is true. The road, it's part of me. You can't have kids and a normal life on the road."

"Normal is boring," she whispered. "Well, maybe not, but I don't have to have normal. I'll have whatever works for us."

"Whatever works for us, huh? Me, too," he agreed.

"So what works for you?"

"Well, there's this girl—no, woman—and I love her. So, she's got to be there," he said with a smile. Lena tried to look quizzical, like she didn't know who he was talking about, but the smile that she couldn't keep off her face was ruining it. She was grinning like a fool, and she knew it.

"You love this woman?" she asked, hope filling her. Of course, she knew that he cared, and she should have known that he loved her, but she hadn't dared to hope. Well, until now.

"Yeah. She used herself as bait and got kidnapped by the devil, and I realized that I didn't want to have to live the rest of my life without her. And the best thing is…she loves me, too. You know how I can tell?"

"It couldn't be that she's grinning like a jackass eating briars, could it?" she said, unable to contain her happy laughter.

"A jackass eating briars?

"You know, like, really happy."

"Oh, yeah, she's definitely happy."

Unable to keep up the game anymore, she began to laugh even more into the front of Dean's shirt. It was a fully-body laugh that came from her belly; it was the laugh of someone who was completely and irrevocably happy. It was a great laugh. He stopped her laughter with a kiss, though by the time they pulled away from each other, they were both laughing.

"So we'll make this work? We'll do whatever we have to?" Lena asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Damn right, we will."


End file.
